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LIBRARY 

NIVERSE  OF 
CALIFORNIA 

SAN  DIEGO 


TERSE    MEMORIALS. 


VERSE    MEMORIALS. 


BY 


MIRABEAU    B.    LAMAR. 


'Such  is  the  nature  of  my  lays  — 
Plain,  simple  strains  in  Beauty's  praise, 
Designed  at  first  for  those  fair  friends 
Whose  memory  with  my  being  blends, 
And  now  sent  forth,  to  find  their  way 
To  mind*  congenial,  grave  or  gay." 


NEW     YORK: 
PUBLISHED  BY  W.  P.  FETRIDGE  &  CO., 

281    BROADWAY. 

"  1857. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1857, 

BY  W.  P.  FETRIDGE  &  CO. 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States,  in  and  for  the 
Southern  District  of  New  York. 


SAVAGE   &  MOCRJCA,   STKKEOTYPEKS, 
13  Chambers  Street,  N.  Y. 


CONTENTS. 


TRIBUTARY    VERSES 9 

APOLOG  Y 17 

INTRODUCTION 19 

SOLDIER    OF    THE    CROSS 43 

THE    ENVIOUS    ROSE , 46 

MY    GEM    OF    DELIGHT 47 

ON    THE    DEATH    OF    MY    DAUGHTER 49 

SERENADE 56 

IRENE 57 

GRIEVE    NOT,    SWEET    FLOWER 61 

LAMENT    FOR    LORETTO 63 

IN    LIFE'S    UNCLOUDED,    GAYER    HOUR 67 

NORA 69 

PERPETUAL    LOVE 72 

OH,    IS    IT    NOT    A    PITY    NOW  ? 73 

SALLY    RILEY 77 

THOU    IDOL    OF    MY    SOUL,   ADIEU 107 

MONODY' 109 

NO,    NO,    THE    HARP    I    DARE    NOT    WAKE 113 

OH,    LET    MY    HARP,    LIKE    JUDAII'S    LYRE 115 

AND    MUST    I    TOUCH    THE    CHORDS    AGAIN  1    117 

OH,    DO   NOT    ASK    ME    NOW    FOR   RHYME 121 

O    LADY,    WHILE    A    NATION    POURS 125 

THE    SEASONS 128 

THERE    IS    A    MAID    I    DEARLY    LOVE 129 

THE    STAR    AND    CUP 131 

OH,    I    HAVE    WEPT    O'ER   BEAUTY'S    DOOM 133 

OCTAVIA 136 

SUNSET    SKIES 137 

THEY'    SAY    THOU    ART    AN    ANGEL   BRIGHT 139 

ISABEL .  141 


16  CONTENTS. 


NAT,    TELL   ME    NOT    THAT    WOMAN    LOVES 144 

CARMELITA 145 

TELL   ME,    BOOK-WORM,    STUDIOUS    SAGE 148 

MUSINGS 149 

THE    COQUETTE 152 

LOVE    AND    MARRIAGE 1  53 

OH,    TWINE    NO    LAUREL-WREATH    FOR   ME 155 

O    LADY,    IF    THE    STARS    SO    BRIGHT 157 

GRIEVE    NOT    FOR    ME 159 

BEHOLD    THE    PAINTER  S    MIMIC   POWERS 162 

TO   MARY    ANN 163 

THE    GIFT 167 

GAY    SPRING,    WITH    HER    BEAUTIFUL    FLOWERS 169 

SONNET    TO    SOLITUDE 172 

ARM    FOR   THE    SOUTHERN    LAND * .  .  173 

ODE    TO    FISHING    CREEK 176 

GIVE    TO    THE    POET    HIS    WELL-EARNED    PRAISE 177 

TO    A    VILLAGE    COQUETTE 179 

LOVE 1 82 

ANNA    COWLES 1 83 

THE    MARRIAGE    DAY 187 

THE    ROSE,    THE    MOON,   AND    NIGHTINGALE 189 

•MY    LILY,    STAR,    AND    PEACEFUL   DOVE 191 

NO    GIRL    CAN    WIN    MY    STUBBORN    BREAST 193 

NOURMAHAL 195 

THE    MAIDEN'S    REMONSTRANCE 197 

TO   MARION,    ON   HEARING   HER   SING 199 

THE  RULING  PASSION 201 

ANACREONTIC OQ3 

BEHOLD  UPON  YON  BENDING  LIMB 205 

MARY  BELL 207 

TO  MRS.  CAROLINE  M.  SAWYER 209 

TO  MRS.  MARY  ROBERTS 211 

TO  MISS  SOPHIA  ROBERTS 214 

THE  BEAU  S  FAREWELL 215 

APPENDIX LINES    ON    THE    DEATH    OF    MRS.    REBECCA    LAMAR 217 

LINES  ADDRESSED  TO    MRS.  M'GEHEE,  ON    THE    DEATH   OF    HER    SON..    219 
NOTES -> 


DEDICATION. 


To  MRS.  WILLIAM  L.  CAZNEAU — so  favorably  known 
to  the  public  by  her  pen,  as  "  CORA  MONTGOMERY/' 
and  now  the  wife  of  one  of  my  best  and  long-cher 
ished  friends — I  beg  leave  to  dedicate  this  little 
volume.  Her  name,  like  that  of  her  husband,  is 
identified  with  the  history  of  TEXAS.  Both  have 
given  their  highest  efforts  and  the  best  years  of 
their  lives  to  the  support  of  her  interests. 

General  CAZNEAU  was  one  of  that  ever-faithful 
band  of  patriots,  whose  talents,  courage,  and  per 
sonal  devotion,  sustained  me  amid  the  multiform 
trials  which  surrounded  my  path  in  organizing  and 
systematizing  the  chaotic  materials  of  government 
which  existed  in  our  new-born  republic  of  the  LONE 
STAR  when  I  was  called  to  the  Presidency. 


DEDICATION. 


To  whom,  then,  among  my  lady-friends,  can  I  in 
scribe  this  collection  of  kindly  reminiscences  with 
more  propriety  than  to  the  chosen  companion  of  a 
man  endeared  to  me  by  years  of  pleasant  associa 
tions,  and  his  inflexible  adherence  to  our  common 
principles  ? 

It  is  my  wish  and  hope  that  this  humble  tribute 
of  esteem  to  one  who  is  so  worthy  of  being  the 
partner  of  such  a  man,  will  be  regarded  by  him  as 
a  feeble  recognition  of  his  past  services  and  con 
tinued  affection. 

MIRABEAU  B.  LAMAR. 

RICHMOND,  FORT-BEND  COUNTY,  TEXAS, 
February  10,  1857. 


PREFACE. 


IN  presenting  this  volume  to  the  public,  the  author  is  actuated 
mainly  by  the  desire  of  manifesting  to  the  friends,  who  have  been 
so  long  the  sunshine  of  his  life,  that  he  still  holds  them  in  grateful 
remembrance.  The  verses  themselves  are  very  unpretending  in 
their  character ;  and  are  but  fragments  of  thought  and  feeling, 
rescued  from  the  turmoil  of  a  life  that  permitted  little  leisure  for 
literary  recreation.  The  style  and  subjects  of  the  poems  indicate 
very  clearly  that  they  were  not  written  for  the  general  public. 
They  are  but  spontaneous  effusions,  extorted  by  the  circumstances 
of  the  moment,  or  the  solicitations  of  friendship.  As  mere  literary 
productions,  they  are  scarcely  entitled  to  consideration ;  yet  it  is 
possible  they  may  find  some  acceptance,  not  only  with  those  for 
whom  they  were  written,  but  also  among  congenial  minds  that  are 
more  interested  in  the  feelings  of  the  man  than  in  the  genius  of 
the  poet.  As  destitute  of  intrinsic  merit  as  the  author  knows 
them  to  be,  they  are,  nevertheless,  his  only  fortune.  Whatever 
else  he  may  have  attempted  or  achieved,  has  been  for  the  benefit 
of  others  ;  and  of  the  rich  vineyard  in  which  he  has  been  so  long 
a  volunteer  laborer,  this  little  cluster  of  recollections  is  almost  all 
he  can  claim  as  his  own,  or  bequeath  to  his  only  child. 


PREFACE. 


That  these  poems  —  which  have  dropped  like  wild-flowers  along 
the  rugged  path  of  public  duty  —  may  prove  hereafter  a  source 
of  utility  and  pleasure  to  the  sole  offspring  of  a  happy  home, 
is  an  additional  reason  for  their  collection  and  publication.  The 
author  would  wish  that  his  little  daughter  might  acquire  from  these 
verses  a  better  knowledge  of  her  father's  heart — or  at  least  of 
some  of  its  impulses — than  she  may  be  able  to  derive  from  the 
public  records  of  his  political  and  military  life ;  for  such  records 
generally  can  very  little  more  than  represent  the  sterner  and  less 
attractive  phases  of  character.  He  is  not  unwilling  —  nay,  he 
desires  —  to  be  judged,  as  a  patriot,  a  soldier,  and  a  statesman,  by 
his  documents  and  his  official  acts  ;  but  at  the  same  time  he  would 
have  the  child  of  his  heart  to  know  that  her  father,  however  rigid 
in  the  discharge  of  official  duty,  was  something  more  than  the 
mere  soldier  and  politician ;  and  that  while  he  was  devoted  to  his 
country,  he  was  equally  so  in  his  private  relations,  and  always 
less  mindful  of  himself  than  of  others.  This  she  will  gather  from 
the  present  volume  better  than  from  history. 

After  all,  should  these  poems  —  if  it  be  not  a  misnomer  to  dig 
nify  them  with  that  name  —  possess  no  other  value,  they  are  at 
least  thus  far  serviceable  to  the  author,  in  reviving  in  his  heart 
and  keeping  alive  the  recollection  of  those  kindly  affections  and 
beautiful  associations  which  gave  them  birth,  and  which  he  would 
not  Avillingly  surrender  except  with  life. 

Such  are  the  motives  of  the  author  in  sending  forth  his  little 
volume  of  MEMORIALS  ;  and  in  these  motives  he  must  find  his 
sole  recompense  for  whatever  he  may  lose,  in  a  literary  point  of 
view,  by  their  publication. 

NEW  YORK,  May  12,  1857. 


TEIBUTAKY  VERSES. 


LINES 

TO    GENERAL    MIRABEAU    B.    LA  MAR, 

BY     MRS.     ANN     S.      STEPHENS. 


THE  sands  have  all  been  golden  sparks 

Which  measured  out  the  time 
Since  thou,  brave  friend !    hast  been  a  guest 

In  our  chilly  northern  clime : 
The  sweet  and  dreamy  summer's  sun, 

That  kindles  half  the  year 
The  blossoms  of  thy  prairie-land, 

We  can  not  give  thee  here. 

II. 

Our  eaves  are  hung  with  icicles, 

Our  mountains  clad  in  snow  ; 
And  the  jewelry  of  Winter  chains 

The  brooklet's  silvery  flow. 
But  the  sunshine  of  thy  own  bright  deeds 

Its  genial  warmth  imparts  ; 
And  blossoms  are  surrounding  thee, 

From  a  thousand  friendly  hearts. 


10  TRIBUTARY    VERSES. 


III. 

High  deeds,  high  thoughts,  enkindle  still 

Our  northern  patriot  blood  ; 
No  frost  can  reach  its  sparkling  thrill. 

Or  check  its  ruby  flood. 
Our  love  will  ever  linger  round 

That  bright  and  fragrant  land, 
Which  owes  its  wealth  and  freedom 

To  thy  strong  and  willing  hand  ! 

IV. 

To  a  wilderness  of  blushing  flowers 

Thy  sword  and  lute  have  given 
High  freedom,  and  the  voice  of  song  — 

Those  two  best  gifts  of  Heaven. 
And  thou  hast  won  the  pale  Lone  Star 

Its  brightest  golden  beam  ; 
And  from  our  own  dear  home  afar, 

We  joy  to  watch  its  gleam. 

NEW  YORK,  March,  1845. 


TRIBUTARY    VEKSES.  11 


STANZAS 

TO    GENERAL    MIR ABE AU    B.    LA  MAR. 

BY     MRS.     CAROLINE     M.     SAWYER. 
I. 

How  shall  I  wake  the  farewell  strain,  and  weave 
The  simple  lay,  that  may  my  theme  befit  ? 

For  thou  hast  bid  me  sing,  and  I  would  leave 
Some  echo  in  thy  soul,  to  linger  yet 

When  thou  art  far  away ! 

II. 

High  song  should  greet  the  gallant  and  the  brave, 
And  lofty  numbers  swell  the  proud  refrain ; 

Yet,  o'er  thy  brow  though  verdant  laurels  wave, 
And  mine  is  but  a  woman's  faltering  strain, 

Thou  wilt  accept  the  lay. 

III. 

By  the  glad  gatherings  round  the  social  hearth  ; 

The  thoughtful  mingling,  mind  with  kindred  mind ; 
The  quiet  converse  and  the  gentle  mirth ; 

The  generous  glow  and  sentiment  refined— 

I  shall  remember  thee ! 


12  TRIBUTARY    VERSES. 


IV. 

So,  in  thy  home  where  fadeless  beauty  dwells — 
Where  broad  savannas  drink  the  torrid  ray — 

When  in  thy  breast  some  pleasant  memory  swells 
Of  by -gone  scenes  and  friends  far,  far  away  — 

May  I  remembered  be  ! 

V. 

Yet  think  of  me  as  thou  wouldst  think  of  one 

For  whom  't  were  well  that  earth's  vain  dreams  were  o'er ; 

Whose  troubled  journey  may  be  nearly  done ; 
Whose  spirit  yearns  to  seek  the  better  shore — 
The  beautiful  and  far ! 

VI. 

But  fare  thee  well !  —  thy  country  calls  thee  back  ; 

Lone  and  in  peril,  she  hath  need  of  thee : 
Go  —  and,  in  all  your  proud  and  shining  track, 

May  thou  and  she  alike  victorious  be  !  — 

Adieu  to  thee  —  LAMAR  ! 

NEW  YORK,  January,  1845, 


TRIBUTARY    VERSES.  13 


IMPROMPTU 

TO    MES.    HENRIETTA    LA  MAR, 

ON  PRESENTING  HER  WITH  A  COPT  OF  THE  KNICKERBOCKER  GALLERY. 

FAIR  daughter  of  a  gifted  sire, 

Whose  lips  were  touched  with  hallowed  fire, 

And  glowed  with  light  and  thought  intense, 

The  very  soul  of  eloquence  : 

And,  happier  still,  the  cherished  bride 

Of  one  who  is  his  country's  pride  — 

To  whom  the  blended  wreaths  belong 

Of  valor,  statesmanship,  and  song : 

Fair  lady,  unto  thee  so  blest, 

And  worthy  of  such  noble  love  — 
So  doubly  honored,  so  caressed, 

So  prized  all  other  forms  above — 
To  thee,  whose  sweetly-cultured  mind 
By  every  virtue  is  refined  — 
This  wreath  of  kindred  thoughts  I  send, 
A  tribute  from  thy  husband's  friend. 

A.  B.  MEEK. 

MOBILE,  February  21,  1855. 


APOLOGY. 


I  NEVER  hoped  in  life  to  claim 

A  passport  to  exalted  fame  ; 

'Tis  not  for  this  I  sometimes  frame 

The  simple  song  — 
Contented  still,  with  humble  name, 

To  move  along. 

I  write  because  there  's  joy  in  rhyme ; 
It  cheers  an  evening's  idle  time  ; 
And  though  my  verse  the  true  sublime 

May  never  reach, 
Yet  Heaven  will  never  call  it  crime, 

If  truth  it  teach. 

The  labor  steals  the  heart  from  wo  ; 
It  makes  it  oft  with  rapture  glow ; 
And  always  teaches  to  forego 

Each  low  desire  ; 
Then  why  on  those  our  blame  bestow 

Who  strike  the  lyre  ? 

If  virtue  in  the  song  be  blent, 
I  know  no  reason  to  repent 
My  hours  of  studious  content, 

And  lettered  joy ; 
'Twere  well  if  leisure  ne'er  was  spent 

In  worse  employ. 


VEESE    MEMORIALS. 


INTRODUCTION. 

i. 

0  GENTLE  ladies,  gay  and  bright, 
For  you — and  you  alone — I  write  ; 
And  if  my  verse  shall  fail  to  please, 
For  want  of  your  own  native  ease, 
You  must  your  faithful  bard  forgive, 
Whose  songs  are  not  designed  to  live ; 
Who  only  cons  a  cheerful  lay  — 
Light  ditty  of  a  summer's  day — 
To  share,  like  flowers,  a  transient  while, 
The  light  of  Beauty's  gracious  smile, 
And  then  be  idly  thrown  aside  — 
For  ever  lost  in  Lethe's  tide  ! 


20  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

II. 

It  grieves  me,  gentle  friends,  to  know 
That  ye,  from  whom  our  comforts  flow, 
Should  not  in  just  proportion  share 
The  brilliant  joys  you  scatter  here  : 
Yet  so  it  is  —  'tis  yours,  the  while' 
All  earth  is  lighted  by  your  smile, 
To  see  your  virtues  unrepaid, 
Your  wit  despised,  your  love  betrayed  ; 
Nor  feel  one  bliss  your  charms  impart, 
Reflected  back  upon  the  heart. 

in. 

Proud  man  may  take  the  morning's  wing 
And  fly  wherever  dwells  the  Spring ; 
The  world  of  piassion  lies  before  him, 
And  Beauty's  light  is  shining  o'er  him  ; 
And  though  he  may  not  realize 
The  highest  objects  of  his  sighs, 
He  still  at  least  retains  the  right 
To  chase  the  phantoms  of  delight. 
But  such  is  not  fair  woman's  doom  — 
The  world  she  decks  is  but  her  tomb! 
She  must  not  after  pleasure  rove, 
She  must  not  tread  the  Paphian  grove  : 


INTRODUCTION.  21 


Sho  can  not  play  the  warrior  bold, 
She  can  not  delve  in  mines  for  gold; 
Denied  to  her  the  helm  of  state — 
She  dares  in  nothing  to  be  great : 
The  only  bliss  that  she  can  know, 
Must  from  domestic  comforts  flow  ; 
And  should  these  blessings  ne'er  attend, 
Then  welcome  Death,  her  only  friend. 

IV. 

Restricted  thus — forbid  to  roam — 
Chained  like  a  captive  to  her  home  — 
How  more  than  cruel  must  it  be, 
If  he,  who  rules  her  destiny, 
Should  make  that  home  the  home  of  tears - 
A  dungeon  of  despairing  years  ! 
Yet  this  has  been,  and  still  must  be, 
While  woman's  bound  and  man  is  free. 
To  Beauty's  sacred  rights  unjust, 
Sad  recreant  to  his  troth  and  trust, 
The  husband  ceases  soon  to  prize 
The  once  bright  angel  of  his  sighs  ; 
Beholds  unmoved  her  falling  tears, 
Contemns  her  fondness,  mocks  her  fears  ; 
And,  turning  from  her  cheerful  beauty, 
Despising  truth,  and  loathing  duty, 


22  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

Seeks  in  the  horrid  dens  of  vice 
The  madd'ning  cup — the  treach'rous  dice — 
And  all  those  joys,  debased  and  vain, 
That  bring  destruction  in  their  train ; 
While  she,  who  once,  with  soul  elate, 
Entwined  with  his,  her  hope  and  fate, 
And  fondly  deemed  her  home  would  prove 
An  Eden-world  of  light  and  love, 
Now  finds  that  home  all  wo  and  strife  — 
A  dark  entombment  of  her  life  — 
Where  no  sweet  ray  of  hope  can  come, 
To  light  the  deep,  sepulchral  gloom. 
The  wretch  that  blights,  with  serpent-art, 
The  paradise  of  woman's  heart, 
Should,  serpent-like,  be  doomed  to  feel 
The  iron  crush  of  every  heel. 

v. 

There  lies  in  Fancy's  fairy  clime, 
Like  Eden  in  its  early  prime, 
A  lovely  landscape,  fresh  and  green, 
With  fragrant  flowers  and  waters  sheen, 
And  gentle  birds  of  plumage  gay, 
Pouring  their  songs  from  every  spray. 
Fond  woman  thinks,  if  she  could  dwell, 
Embowered  with  love,  in  that  fair  dell, 


INTRODUCTION.  23 


Her  life  like  some  bright  stream  would  be, 

Flowing  in  light  and  melody. 

But  when  she  seeks  with  hasty  feet 

The  blessings  of  that  green  retreat, 

The  luring  lawn  is  scarcely  passed, 

Ere  darkness  over  all  is  cast ; 

And  soon  she  finds  her  fairy  ground 

A  dreary  waste  with  ruin  crowned. 

The  verdure  green  has  disappeared, 

The  birds  are  flown  —  no  music  heard — 

The  turbid  waters  scarcely  flow, 

And  every  flower  has  lost  its  glow: 

All.  all  are  changed — the  vision  flies, 

And  hope,  without  fruition,  dies. — 

0  woman  fair,  that  landscape  green, 

Is  married  life  at  distance  seen ; 

The  dreary  waste  it  proves  to  be, 

Is  married  life  as  found  by  thee. 

VT. 

Xow,  if  this  realm  were  mine  to-day, 
And  I  a  king  of  boundless  sway, 
Fair  woman  soon,  from  every  wo, 
Should  leap  exulting  like  the  doe, 
And  no  presumptuous  man  should  dare 
To  build  his  bliss  on  her  despair. 


24  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 


All  tyrant-laws  I  would  explode  — 

I'd  purge  the  statutes — change  the  code — 

And  by  some  system,  just  and  true, 

Secure  the  rights  to  Beauty  due. 

But  since  the  world  is  prone  to  slight 

The  wisdom  of  a  rhyming  wight, 

And  falsely  deem  the  tuneful  tribe 

Unfit  for  aught  but  jest  and  jibe, 

I  must  content  me  with  my  lays, 

To  sing  in  Truth  and  Virtue's  praise, 

And  humbly  lay  the  wreath  I  twine 

An  offering  frail  at  Beauty's  shrine. 

I  can  not  brook  the  soulless  bard, 

Who  lacks  for  woman  due  regard  — 

Who  sees  no  heaven  within  her  eyes, 

And  all  her  world  of  worth  denies. 

To  me  she  is  a  planet  bright, 

An  ever-faithful  beacon-light  — 

The  star  I  seek  to  guide  my  way, 

Whose  lustre  never  leads  astray ; 

And  he,  the  minstrel  mean  and  vile, 

Who  would  her  sacred  name  defile, 

Should  ne'er  in  life  those  raptures  know 

Which  fame  and  beauty  can  bestow. 

0  may  his  songs  remain  unread, 

No  honors  crown  his  recreant  head, 


INTRODUCTION.  25 


And  woman's  love,  like  morning  light, 
Ne'er  dawn  on  his  distracted  night ! 

VII. 

Ungrateful  man !   by  Beauty  blessed, 
Too  fondly  cherished  and  caressed, 
When  will  you  learn  the  boon  to  prize  — 
The  blessing  sent  you  from  the  skies  — 
An  angel  with  the  name  of  Wife  — 
Bright  rainbow  of  your  stormy  life? 
Oh,  soothe  her  by  each  gentle  art, 
Allay  the  anguish  of  her  heart, 
And  leave  her  not,  beneath  your  scorn, 
To  sink  like  some  sweet  bloom  of  morn ; 
But  wear  her  as  the  priceless  gem 
That  decks  a  monarch's  diadem. 
She  is  the  jewel  of  your  youth, 
Your  manhood's  talisman  of  truth, 
And  still  will  be,  in  life's  decline, 
Your  shelt'ring  and  sustaining  vine. 
Then  be  to  her  as  she  to  you, 
For  ever  kind — for  ever  true  ; 
And  while  her  daily  smiles  you  share, 
Fond  object  of  her  constant  care, 
Oh,  let  it  be  your  highest  pride 
Through  life  to  linger  by  her  side  ; 


26  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

• 

And  feel  and  know  that,  come  what  will, 
One  star  is  beaming  o'er  you  still ! 

VIII. 

The  sweetest  wife,  and  most  beloved, 
May  be  to  transient  anger  moved, 
As  quiet  lakes  and  tranquil  seas 
Are  ruffled  by  the  passing  breeze  ; 
But  who  for  this  shall  love  her  less, 
Or  slacken  in  his  fond  caress  ? 
If  sometimes,  mid  her  thousand  cares, 
She  should  her  husband  chide  in  tears  — 
Rebuke  him  for  some  fault  forgot, 
Some  error  best  remembered  not — 
Perchance  a  something  undesigned, 
A  word  or  look  she  deemed  unkind, 
Or,  hurtful  more  to  woman's  pride, 
Some  boon  demanded  and  denied  — 
Oh,  let  him  not,  with  angry  flash, 
Retort  in  language  rude  and  rash  ; 
But,  folding  in  a  warm  embrace, 
Her  lovely  form  of  perfect  grace, 
Inflict  upon  the  rosy  pout, 
Some  fifty  kisses  long  drawn  out, 
And  thus  a  sweet  revenge  impose  — 
The  only  one  that  honor  knows. 


INTRODUCTION.  27 


IX. 

And  docs  my  HENRIETTA  say — 
"  I  like  the  precepts  of  your  lay, 
.But  more  it  would  my  soul  delight 
To  see  you  practise  what  you  write?"  — 
Nay,  say  not  so — nor  e'en  in  jest, 
Disturb  the  halcyon  of  that  breast, 
In  which  thy  image  lies  enshrined, 
Like  pearl  in  Ocean's  caves  confined. 
I  may,  indeed,  have  often  erred, 
And  deeply  wronged  my  bonny  bird  ; 
But,  dearest  one,  as  down  we  go 
Life's  chequered  scenes  of  joy  and  wo, 
'T  is  wisdom's  part  to  cull  the  rose, 
And  leave  the  nightshade  where  it  grows. 
If  e'er,  by  angry  word  or  deed, 
I  've  caused  thy  gentle  heart  to  bleed, 
And  left  thee  sorrowing  by  the  hearth, 
Neglectful  of  thy  matchless  worth, 
A  due  repentance  now  is  mine, 
And  sweet  forgiveness  must  be  thine. 
E'en  while  my  passions  went  astray, 
My  heart  still  loved  the  better  way  ; 
And  oft  in  deep  contrition  longed 
To  kneel  before  the  shrine  I  wronged ; 


28  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

For  how  could  I  forget  the  bride 

I  wooed  and  won  in  beauty's  pride  — 

And,  dearer  still,  the  faithful  wife 

Whose  love  has  blessed  my  troubled  life  ? 

The  needle,  forced  by  some  rude  jar, 

Forsakes  awhile  its  polar  star ; 

Yet  feeling  still  its  secret  sway, 

It  always  settles  to  that  ray : 

So  doth  my  spirit,  tempest-tost, 

Too  oft  its  helm  of  reason  lost, 

Still  turn  to  thee,  its  polar  light  — 

The  star  that  ever  guides  aright. 

Then  cease,  my  HENRIE — cease  to  chide — 

Look  only  on  the  brighter  side  ; 

And  when  around  our  humble  hearth 

We  meet  again  in  joy  and  mirth, 

Oh,  bend  on  me  thine  eye  of  light, 

In  token  sweet  that  all  is  right  — 

As  I  shall  cast  me  on  thy  breast, 

My  only  home  of  peace  and  rest! 


x. 


Full  soon  I  hope  in  Texan  shades  — 
Fair  land  of  flowers  and  blooming  maids  — 
To  roarn  enraptured  by  thy  side, 
As  blessed  with  thee  on  Brazos'  tide 


INTRODUCTION.  29 


As  when  I  first,  on  Galvez'  isle, 

Walked  in  the  rainbow  of  thy  smile. 

We  '11  rise,  my  love,  at  early  dawn, 

We  '11  ramble  down  the  dewy  lawn, 

We  '11  drink  the  freshness  of  the  breeze, 

We  '11  wake  the  wild-birds  in  the  trees  ; 

And  as  we  go  through  glen  and  glade, 

Culling  bright  flowers  thy  locks  to  braid, 

Thy  voice,  in  converse  soft  and  clear, 

Shall  be  my  spirit's  dulcimer. 

No  bodings  dark  shall  intervene, 

No  shadows  dim  the  blissful  scene ; 

But  pleasant  thoughts  —  sweet,  peaceful  dove — 

Thoughts  born  of  beauty,  truth,  and  love — 

Shall  in  thy  Eden-bosom  rise, 

And  send  their  moonlight  through  thine  eyes ; 

Or,  breathing  inward  quietness, 

Shall  silent  dwell  in  their  recess, 

Like  hoarded  stores  of  rich  perfume, 

Locked  in  the  rose-bud  ere  it  bloom. 

The  lark's  first  carol  to  the  morn, 

Will  find  us  in  the  field  of  corn  — 

The  distant  field  far  down  the  dell, 

Whose  lively  green  thou  lov'st  so  well ; 

And  ere  Aurora's  beams  shall  mar 

The  lustre  of  the  Morning  Star, 


30  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

We'll  seek  again  our  peaceful  cot, 

When  thine  shall  be  the  cheerful  lot 

Thy  household  duties  to  resume  ; 

And  mine  the  task — the  sterner  doom — 

To  drive  the  ploughshare  through  the  soil, 

Or  mingle  in  the  world's  turmoil. 

But  what  is  labor — what  is  strife  — 

And  what  are  all  the  ills  of  life  — 

If  man  but  meet  them  undeterred, 

By  God  sustained  and  beauty  cheered  ? 

XI. 

When  duty's  claims  no  longer  press, 
And  labor  grants  us  sweet  recess, 
Oft  will  we  roam,  in  frolic-mood, 
Through  valleys  wide  and  tangled  wood, 
And  reap  the  joy  that  Nature  yields 
To  all  who  love  her  open  fields. 
For  thee,  my  love,  will  Spring  unfold 
Her  gorgeous  robes  of  green  and  gold  ; 
And,  like  a  troop  of  rural  maids, 
The  flowery  children  of  her  shades 
Their  welcome  guest  will  smiling  greet, 
And  look  their  best  to  look  as  sweet. 
The  rose  will  blush  with  deeper  red, 
The  lily  hold  a  higher  head, 


INTRODUCTION.  31 


The  trees  assume  a  livelier  green, 

The  waters  roll  in  brighter  sheen  ; 

And  all  things  pleasing,  all  things  bright, 

Whate'er  inspires  a  gay  delight, 

Shall  lend  their  soft,  enchanting  powers, 

To  gild  and  bless  the  flying  hours, 

And  to  thy  pure  and  gentle  heart 

A  radiant  glow  of  joy  impart. 

XII. 

What  God  designs  for  our  delight, 
It  is  ingratitude  to  slight ; 
And,  baser  still,  with  selfish  pride, 
To  seize  the  joys,  and  not  divide. 
Poor  worth,  indeed,  the  happiest  lot, 
If  kindred  love  can  share  it  not ! 
So,  dearest  one,  as  forth  we  wend, 
The  good  and  lovely  shall  attend — 
And  hand  in  hand,  and  side  by  side, 
We'll  frolic  all  till  eventide. 
With  sparkling  eye  and  spirit  gay, 
Your  sister,  love,  shall  lead  the  way, 
And,  with  her  sweet  Euterpean  art, 
Awake  bright  joy  in  every  heart. 
Her  daughter,  too — celestial  born  — 
Bright  rising  star  of  early  morn — 


32  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

Shall  o'er  the  flowery  path  we  tread, 
The  sunshine  of  her  beauty  shed. 

Her  fairy  feet,  where'er  she  goes, 

\ 
Shall  fall  so  lightly  on  the  rose, 

As  not  to  shake  the  sparkling  dews 
That  hang  like  diamonds  on  its  hues. 
LOLA,  sweet  LOLA,  shall  be  there, 
With  coal-black  eye  and  sunny  hair  ; 
An  elfin-sprite  —  a  fairy  thing— 
Light  as  a  swallow  on  the  wing, 
Rich  as  the  rose's  crimson  flush, 
And  laughing  like  the  fountain's  gush, 
As  o'er  the  flowery  mead  she  hies, 
In  chase  of  rainbow  butterflies. 
And  many  a  lovely  one  beside, 
In  youthful  bloom  and  beauty's  pride, 
Shall  mingle  in  the  gay  parade  — 
Themselves  a  sunlight  without  shade. 
Nor  shall  the  sprightly  lassies  lack 
Attendants  on  their  shining  track  ; 
For  round  their  beauty's  dazzling  rays, 
Like  moths  around  the  taper's  blaze, 
The  beaux  shall  flock — a  chosen  band, 
The  best  and  noblest  of  the  land  — 
Gay,  gallant  youths,  from  vices  free, 
Of  lofty  truth  and  chivalry ; 


INTRODUCTION.  33 


For  such  alone,  and  not  the  vile, 

• 

Should  share  the  light  of  Beauty's  smile. 
So  bright,  my  love,  the  train  shall  be, 
So  linked  by  social  harmony, 
That  all  who  shall  behold  the  sight 
Will  say  with  wonder  and  delight — 
"  Oh,  what  a  garland  have  you  wove, 
Of  living  beauty,  light,  and  love  !" 

XIII. 

And  where  is  she,  our  beauteous  friend, 

The  boasted  flower  of  "Old  Fort  Bend"? 

Oh,  she  shall  in  our  sports  unite, 

Sweet  queen  of  beauty,  love,  and  light. 

I  name  her  not — but  well  opine 

That  all  will  know  her  by  this  sign  — 

The  lady  of  cerulean  eye, 

Of  aspect  sweet  and  mild  reply. 

By  those  who  know  and  love  her  well, 

She 's  styled  "  The  Lily  of  the  Dell." 

Her  fairy  form  is  light  and  free, 

As  flexile  as  the  willow-tree, 

And,  like  that  tree,  though  ne'er  at  rest, 

Is  still  with  graceful  motion  blest. 

From  Rio  Bravo  to  Sabine, 

A  fairer  face  may  not  be  seen — 


34  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

All  radiant  with  happy  thought, 
And  yet  like  Grecian  sculpture  wrought. 
The  wedded  roses  on  her  cheek 
A  thousand  modest  virtues  speak  ; 
For,  like  the  fragrance  of  the  rose, 
Sweet  truth  in  all  her  language  flows. 
Her  honeyed  lips  of  vermil  dye, 
Whose  breath  with  Eden-gales  might  vie, 
Are  all  too  pure,  too  free  from  guile, 
To  harshly  speak,  or  falsely  smile  ; 
Nor  can  her  bright  and  sparkling  eyes, 
In  which  the  light  of  genius  lies, 
Direct  against  a  sister's  heart, 
Malignity's  envenomed  dart. 
No — she  is  good  as  she  is  fair, 
A  sunny  blessing  everywhere  ; 
An  angel  to  the  suffering  poor, 
Dispensing  kindness  evermore  ; 
But  most  the  friend  of  modest  worth, 
The  unregarded  good  of  earth, 
Who  pine  neglected  in  the  shade, 
Where  Pride  would  blush  to  tender  aid. 
At  home,  where  woman  best  appears, 
She  's  mindful  of  her  household  cares  ; 
The  ever  cheerful,  faithful  wife, 
Bright  jewel  of  her  husband's  life  ; 


INTRODUCTION.  35 


And  more  beloved  by  all,  I  ween, 

For  charms  like  these — too  rarely  seen — 

Than  flaunting  dames  in  rich  brocade, 

To  folly  wed,  and  vice  betrayed. 

How  sweet  to  hear  her  flowing  words, 

Soft  as  the  song  of  summer  birds  ! 

Her  lute-like  voice,  with  truth  combined, 

Is  music  married  to  the  mind, 

Still  changing  with  unlabored  grace 

To  suit  the  purpose,  time,  and  place. 

As  subjects  grave  or  gay  provoke, 

To  sober  thought  or  merry  joke, 

That  voice  flows  on  like  honeyed  streams 

Of  melody  in  morning  dreams. 

When  leisure  leaves  her  to  be  gay, 

And  all  is  bright  as  rosy  May, 

Behold  her  in  the  dance's  maze, 

A  floating  star  of  dazzling  rays, 

The  glory  of  the  festal  hall, 

The  light,  the  life,  the  soul  of  all — 

Dispensing,  like  Euphrosyne, 

The  joy  of  motion — light  of  glee  — 

Until  the  gazer  almost  deems 

Himself  involved  in  golden  dreams, 

Or  thinks  some  form  of   heavenly  birth 

Had  come  in  rainbows  to  the  earth, 


VERSE    MEMORIALS. 


To  show  this  world  how  purely  bright 

The  creatures  of  supernal  light. 

She  is — but  stay!  —  I  find,  my  dear, 

I'm  painting  you  instead  of  her; 

For  on  my  soul,  and  sense,  and  sight, 

Is  stamped  so  deep  your  image  bright, 

I  can  no  other  charms  review, 

But  those  that  live  and  breathe  in  you : — 

So  let  me  change  to  sable  dye, 

The  azure  of  that  sparkling  eye  — 

And  lo  !   the  "  Lily  of  the  Dell" 

Is  but  my  own  sweet  Nonpareil ! 

XIV. 

The  day  is  spent.     At  evening  hour, 
We  '11  sit  and  sing  in  LOLA'S  bower, 
Or  frolic  on  the  velvet  green, 
Beneath  the  moon's  inviting  sheen  ; 
Nor  shall  one  thought  or  passion  rude 
Upon  the  peaceful  scene  intrude  ; 
But  friendship,  love,  and  gay  good-will, 
Shall  triumph  over  every  ill. 
Thus  will  we  many  a  summer  day 
Devote  to  pleasures  light  and  gay— 
Sweet  pastimes  of  the  cheerful  mind, 
And  of  that  pure  and  guiltless  kind, 


INTRODUCTION.  37 


That  Memory  often  will  restore 
With  fond  delight  wheii .  all  is  o'er. 

xv. 

0  ye,  who  may  by  chance  peruse 
These  gathered  products  of  my  muse, 
Remember  that  my  songs  were  writ 
To  show  my  love,  and  not  my  wit ; 
And  hard  it  were  by  rigid  rule 
To  judge  the  bard  of  such  a  school. 
My  verse  may  want  the  torrent's  force, 
And  some  may  scorn  its  quiet  course  ; 
Yet  there  is  many  a  bosom  still, 
That  echoes  to  the  rippling  rill. 
What  though  no  vivid  lightnings  shine 
Along  my  loose  and  careless  line, 
Yet  welcome  still  in  summer  night 
May  be  the  fire-fly's  glancing  light. 
The  bard  whom  love  alone  beguiles, 
Who  only  sings  for  beauty's  smiles  — 
To  wake  in  souls  of  gentle  tone 
The  tenderness  that  thrills  his  own  — 
May  never  gain,  by  lofty  thought 
And  daring  speech,  the  purpose  sought ; 
For  gentle  woman,  pure  of  heart, 
Is  won  by  nature,  not  by  art ; 


38  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

And  welcome  more  than  florid  lies 
Is  truth  to  her  in  homely  guise. 
Such  is  the  nature  of  my  lays — 
Plain,  simple  strains  in  Beauty's  praise ; 
Designed  at  first  for  those  fair  friends 
Whose  memory  with  my  being  blends, 
And  now  sent  forth  to  find  their  way 
To  minds  congenial,  grave  or  gay. 
Oh,  could  their  simple  tones  impart 
One  throb  of  joy  to  woman's  heart, 
The  bard  would  find,  for  all  his  toil, 
An  over-payment  in  her  smile. 

XVI. 

It  would  my  spirit  deeply  grieve 
If  any  song  of  mine  should  leave 
A  stain  upon  the  tender  mind, 
Or  tempt  to  pleasures  unrefined. 
I  sometimes  write  in  merry  style, 
To  wake  the  gay,  good-natured  smile  — 
To  cast  a  gleam,  a  flitting  ray 
Of  sunshine  o'er  a  cloudy  day  ; 
But  not  for  all  Australia's  gold 
Would  I  one  evil  thought  unfold, 
Or  over  Guilt's  abhorrent  mien 
Extend  a  veil  of  silver  sheen. 


INTRODUCTION.  39 


No  —  rather  let  me  gently  show 
The  goodly  way  the  world  should  go  ; 
Inspire  the  young,  unsullied  mind 
With  love  of  GOD  and  humankind, 
And  teach  the  beautiful  of  earth 
That  blended  piety  and  mirth 
Can  brighten  all  things  here  below, 
And  save  the  heart  from  many  a  wo. 
If,  after  all,  should  sorrows  rude 
Disturb  the  bosom's  quietude, 
Be  mine  the  gentle  task  to  dry 
The  tear  that  darkens  Beauty's  eye, 
And  taste  the  joy  which  all  must  feel 
Who  shall  the  wounded  spirit  heal. 

XVII. 

And  now  ye  damsels  sweet  and  shy, 
One  friendly  word,  and  then  good-by. — 
Youth  is  the  season  of  delight, 
And  pleasure  too  is  Beauty's  right ; 
But  wo  betide  the  maid  who  strays 
From  Virtue's  pure  and  sacred  ways, 
To  gather  on  forbidden  ground 
The  joys  which  never  yet  were  found  ! 
The  wicked  may  not  hope  for  rest ; 
The  good  and  wise  alone  are  blest ; 


40  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

And  those  who  think  that  rapture  dwells 
In  Error's  dark,  secluded  dells, 
Will  find — when  Vice  has  sent  his  dart 
Envenomed  to  the  bleeding  heart  — 
A  disappointment  dark  and  deep, 
A  dread  remorse  that  will  not  sleep, 
A  deathless  pang,  a  foul  disgrace 
Which  time  and  tears  can  ne'er  efface. 
Then  fly,  ye  ever-smiling  throng, 
Sweet  listeners  to  my  careless  song — 
For  ever  fly  the  Upas-shade, 
Where  all  that's  beautiful  must  fade, 
And  seek  those  valleys  pure  and  bright, 
Fair,  smiling  vales  of  love  and  light, 
Where  sacred  Truth  has  built  her  shrine, 
And  made  the  landscape  half  divine. 

XVIII. 

I  would  not  have  you  over-sage, 
Nor  prisoned  in  a  golden  cage, 
But  free  to  roam,  to  sport  and  sing 
With  lightsome  heart,  like  birds  of  spring 
And,  dancing  with  the  smiling  hours, 
Throw  sunshine  over  fields  and  flowers. 
Yet,  lassies,  let  me  say  again, 
Nor  deem  reiteration  vain, 


INTRODUCTION.  41 


That  virtue  is  the  joy  of  youth  — 
There  is  no  peace  apart  from  truth  ; 
And  every  pleasure  wrongly  bought 
Will  be  revenged  in  sober  thought. 
If,  in  your  frolics  light  and  gay, 
Ye  quite  forget  the  coining  day, 
And  have  no  moral  wealth  prepared 
To  bless  ye  when  ye  're  silver-haired, 
Your  fate  will  be  like  thoughtless  bees, 
That  widely  sport  in  bower  and  breeze, 
Yet  gather  from  the  rose's  bloom 
No  honeyed  stores  for  winter's  gloom. 
Where'er  ye  go,  whate'er  ye  do, 
This  useful  lesson  keep  in  view — 
That  peace  below,  and  bliss  above, 
Are  only  won  by  truth  and  love. 

NEW  YOKK,  April,  1857. 


SOLDIER   OF   THE    CROSS. 

INSCRIBED     TO     THE     PIONEER     PREACHER     OF     TEXAS- 

I. 

NAY — tell  me  not  of  dangers  dire 

That  lie  in  duty's  path  ; 
A  Warrior  of  the  Cross  can  feel 

No  fear  of  human  wrath. 
"Where'er  the  Prince  of  Darkness  holds 

His  earthly  reign  abhorred, 
Sword  of  the  Spirit !   thee  I  draw, 

And  battle  for  the  Lord. 

n. 

I  go,  I  go  to  break  the  chains 

That  bind  the  erring  mind, 
And  give  the  freedom  that  I  feel, 

To  all  of  human  kind  ; 
But  oh,  I  wear  no  burnished  steel, 

And  seek  no  gory  field  ; 
My  weapon  is  the  Word  of  God, 

His  promise  is  my  shield. 


VERSE    MEMORIALS. 


III. 

And  thus  equipped,  why  need  I  fear, 

Though  hosts  around  me  rise  ?  — 
There  is  a  power  in  gospel  truth 

No  heathen  can  despise  ; 
And  he  who  boldly  fights  with  that, 

Will  through  more  perils  wade 
Than  the  vain  warrior,  trusting  to 

His  bright  Damascus  blade. 

iv.   f 

No  blasts  by  land  or  sea  can  shake 

The  purpose  of  my  soul ; 
The  tempest  of  a  thousand  winds 

May  sweep  from  pole  to  pole, 
Yet  still  serene,  and  fixed  in  faith, 

All  fear  of  death  I  scorn  — 
I  know  it  is  my  Father's  work — 

He's  with  me  in  the  storm. 

v. 

Then  let  me  go  where  duty  calls,' 
Where  God  himself  commands  — 

Bearing  the  banner  of  his  Sou 
To  dark  and  distant  lands  ; 


SOLDIER    OF    THE    CROSS.  45 

And  if  the  high  and  holy  cause 

Require  my  early  fall, 
A  recreant  he  who  would  not  die 

For  Him  who  died  for  all. 

WRITTEN  AT  THE  SUGGESTION  OF  MRS.  DR.  HOXEY, 

INDEPENDENCE,  WASHINGTON  COUNTY,  TEXAS. 


46  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 


THE    ENVIOUS    ROSE. 

TO     MISS     ANNA     MILES,     ILLINOIS. 

THE  Rose  I  saw  on  ANNA'S  breast, 

I  deemed  the  happiest  of  its  race  ; 
In  such  a  world  of  beauty  blest, 

How  could  it  ask  a  brighter  place  ? 
Yet  all  its  hues  departed  soon, 

Like  fading  clouds  at  closing  day  ;  — 
It  could  not  brook  superior  bloom, 

And  sank  in  envy's  pale  decay. 


MY     GEM     OF    DELIGHT.  47 


MY    GEM    OF   DELIGHT. 

TO  A  FAIR  FRIEND,  M  A  C  O  N,  GEORGIA. 
I. 

OH,  bright  is  the  maiden  who  wakens  my  sighs, 
No  planet  can  equal  the  light  of  her  eyes  ; 
Her  form  is  elastic — her  spirit  elate — 
The  spring  of  the  willow  is  seen  in  her  gait ; 
The  tones  of  her  laughter  are  dulcimer-sounds, 
And  gladness  is  scattered  wherever  she  bounds. 
Oh,  thou  art  —  my  CASSA — that  maiden  so  bright, 
Sweet  spirit  of  beauty,  and  Gem  of  Delight. 

ii. 

What  gift  shall  I  bring  thee  to  merit  thy  love — 
Some  pearl  from  the  ocean,  or  star  from  above  ? 
What  wreath  shall  I  twine  thee  to  soften  thy  scorn — 
The  laurels  of  battle,  or  myrtles  of  song  ? 
Thy  will  shall  be  law,  and  the  lofty  shall  bend  ; 
My  harp  it  shall  praise  thee,  my  sword  shall  defend  ; 
Then  tell  me,  fair  CASSA  —  oh,  tell  me  to-night, 
The  best  way  to  woo  thee,  my  Gem  of  Delight. 


48  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

III. 

Too  cold  is  this  climate  for  beauty  like  thine  ; 
No  heart  can  adore  thee  so  warmly  as  mine  ; 
I  laugh  at  all  peril  when  woman's  the  prize  — 
The  stars  of  my  banner  are  love-lighted  eyes  ! 
As  swift  as  a  falcon  the  steed  that  I  ride. 
And  sharp  is  the  sabre  that  hangs  by  my  side  ; 
Then  fly  with  me,  CASSA — there's  bliss  in  the  flight, 
And  glory  shall  circle  my  Gem  of  Delight. 

IV. 

But  oh,  if  my  fair  one  can  never  be  mine, 
To  silence  for  ever  my  harp  I  consign  ; 
Undrawn  in  its  scabbard  my  sabre  shall  rust, 
And  glory  and  honors  I  trample  in  dust. 
How  cold  is  all  glory  by  Beauty  unblest ! 
Like  Erebus'  shadows  it  falls  on  my  breast ; 
But  oh,  it  is  sunshine  to  soul  and  to  sight, 
When  kindled  by  CASSA,  my  Gem  of  Delight. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  MY  DAUGHTER.     49 


ON  THE    DEATH    OF    MY    DAUGHTER 

IN    REPLY    TO    LINES    RECEIVED    FROM    THE 
REV.     EDWARD     FONTAINE,     AUSTIN,     TEXAS. 

I. 

ALL  honor  to  thy  minstrel  skill, 

Dear  friend  of  happier  days  ; 
Thy  notes  are  sweet,  but  sweeter  still 

The  love  that  prompts  thy  lays. 
From  sorrows  deep,  and  cherished  long, 

Thou  fain  wouldst  free  my  heart— 
Thou  wouldst,  by  thine  enchanting  song, 

New  hopes  and  joys  impart. 

n. 

But  vain  it  is  thy  harp  to  strike  ; 

My  woes  thou  canst  not  drown, 
Unless  thy  notes,  Cecilia's  like, 

Can  draw  an  angel  down. 
Until  I  meet  my  daughter  fair, 

Lost  Pleiad  of  my  soul, 
The  burning  tears  of  my  despair 

Must  ever,  ever  roll. 


50  VERSE     MEMORIALS. 

III. 

Nor  would  I,  if  I  could,  revive 

From  my  distraction  wild ; 
I  love  the  grief  that  keeps  alive 

The  memory  of  my  child  ; 
And  if  again  by  hope  betrayed, 

My  soul  should  court  repose, 
How  poorly  would  the  guilt  be  paid, 

By  all  that  earth  bestows  ! 

IV. 

The  morning  star  that  fades  from  sight, 

Still  beams  upon  the  mind  ; 
So  doth  her  beauty  leave  the  light 

Of  memory  behind. 
Though  lost  to  earth — too  early  gone  — 

By  others  seen  no  more, 
She  is  to  me  still  shining  on, 

And  brighter  than  before. 

V. 

The  smile  she  wore  when  last  we  met, 
The  tear  she  shed  at  parting, 

The  kiss  upon  mine  eyelids  set 
To  keep  my  own  from  starting, 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  MY  DAUGHTER.     51 


Like  bright  remembered  dreams  of  bliss, 
Are  lingering  with  me  yet  — 

That  smile,  and  tear,  and  parting  kiss, 
Oh,  how  can  I  forget  ? 


VI. 

And  you,  my  friend,  who  knew  her  worth, 

And  loved  that  worth  to  praise, 
And  how  amid  the  ills  of  earth 

She  walked  in  beauty's  ways, 
Will  not  condemn  the  grateful  tears  — 

The  ever-flowing  stream — 
That  keeps  a  loveliness  like  hers 

In  memory  fresh  and  green. 

VII. 

No — let  me  still  in  silence  keep 

My  vigils  o'er  her  tomb, 
And  with  my  tears  for  ever  steep 

The  flowers  that  o'er  it  bloom. 
Though  all  the  world  should  pass  it  by, 

A  place  remembered  not, 
'Tis  meet  that  I  should  linger  nigh, 

And  bless  the  hallowed  spot. 


52  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

VIII. 

The  sacred  love,  the  holy  woes, 

Awakened  by  the  dead, 
Are  like  the  fragrance  of  the  rose 

When  all  its  hues  are  fled  ; 
And  as  beside  the  grave  we  stand, 

The  mournful  thoughts  that  rise, 
Are  whispers  from  the  Spirit-Land  — 

Sweet  voices  from  the  skies. 

IX. 

Then  leave,  oh  leave  me  to  my  grief, 

Too  wedded  now  to  part ; 
'T  will  duly  work  its  own  relief, 

By  eating  out  the  heart ; 
But  till  my  daughter,  pure  and  bright. 

To  me  shall  reappear, 
My  life  must  be  a  sleepless  night, 

Without  a  star  to  cheer. 

x. 

You  tell  me  that  my  grief  is  vain, 
My  child  will  not  return  ; 

No  earthly  tears  can  wake  again 
The  ashes  of  the  urn  ; 


ON     THE    DEATH     OF     MY     DAUGHTER. 


You  tell  me  too  that  she  is  gone 
To  regions  blest  and  fair — 

And  wrong  it  is  her  loss  to  mourn, 
Since  she 's  an  angel  there. 


XI. 

I  know  it  all  —  I  know  it  all ; 

Yet  still  with  grief  opprest, 
My  spirit  sighs  for  her  recall, 

And  will  not  be  at  rest. 
I  can  not,  can  not  give  her  up — 

I  am  not  reconciled  ; 
Oh,  take  away  the  bitter  cup, 

And  bring  me  back  my  child  ! 

XII. 

She  was  the  last  enchanting  ray 

That  cheered  me  here  below — 
The  only  star  that  lit  my  way 

Through  this  dark  world  of  wo  ; 
And  now,  bereft  of  that  sweet  light, 

Oh,  how  shall  I  sustain 
The  shadows  of  the  awful  night 

Which  must  with  me  remain  ! 


54  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

XIII. 

Like  him  upon  the  rocky  p'eak, 

In  wrath  and  vengeance  doomed 
A  victim  to  the  vulture's  beak, 

To  suffer  unconsumed  — 
So  am  I  doomed  in  darkness  deep, 

All  desolate  and  chill, 
To  bear  a  pang  that  will  not  sleep— 

A  death  that  will  not  kill. 

XIV. 

Then  be  it  so — all  silently 

I  '11  bear  the  adverse  weight ; 
But  HE  I  hope  in  yonder  sky, 

Who  dooms  me  to  my  fate, 
Will,  in  his  own  good  way  and  time, 

My  lovely  one  restore : — 
If  not  on  earth,  in  that  blest  clime 

Where  parting  is  no  more. 

xv. 

I  know  He  will — for  even  now, 
On  Faith's  enraptured  eye 

He  breaketh,  like  his  own  bright  bow 
Of  promise  from  on  high. 


ON     THE    DEATH     OF     MY     DAUGHTER. 

Amid  my  deep  despondency, 

He  whispers  in  my  ear — 
"  Thy  daughter  may  not  come  to  thee, 

But  thou  canst  go  to  her." 

XVI. 

Enough,  enough  —  I  ask  no  more  — 

A  light  has  flashed  within  ; 
My  child  from  earth  He  only  bore, 

To  lure  me  on  to  him. 
Then  let  him  keep  the  jewel  bright, 

Oh,  let  him  wear  the  geni ; 
I  would  not  snatch  so  pure  a  light 

From  his  bright  diadem. 

XVII. 

The  only  boon,  0  GOD,  I  crave, 

Is  soon  thy  face  to  see  ; 
I  long  to  pass  the  dull,  cold  grave, 

And  wing  my  way  to  thee  — 
To  thee,  0  GOD,  and  all  my  friends 

In  thine  eternal  sphere, 
Where  I  may  make  some  poor  amends 

For  all  my  errors  here. 

RICHMOND,  TEXAS. 


56  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 


SERENADE. 

TO     MISS     ANNA     TKUESDELL,     BROOKLYN. 
I. 

THE  moon,  the  cold,  chaste  moon,  my  love, 

Is  riding  in  the  sky ; 
And  like  a  bridal  veil,  my  love, 

The  clouds  are  floating  by. 
Oh,  brighter  than  that  planet,  love, 

Thy  face  appears  to  me  ; 
But  when  shall  I  behold  its  light, 

Through  bridal  drapery? 

n. 

We  owe  our  gratitude,  my  love, 

To  Sol's  enlivening  ray ; 
And  yet  I  prize  the  moonlight,  love, 

Above  the  glare  of  day. 
0  bonnie  ANN,  thou  art  to  me 

Whate'er  in  both  is  best — 
Thou  art  the  moonbeam  to  mine  eye, 

The  sunbeam  to  my  breast. 


IRENE.  57 


IRENE, 

THE  JENNY  LIND  OF  GEORGIA. 
I. 

I'VE  seen  the  belles  of  many  lands, 

Pure  gems  of  living  light — 
Their  native  climes  illumining 

As  stars  illumine  night ; 
And  yet  in  Beauty's  gorgeous  sky, 

No  planet  have  I  seen 
With  Georgia's  sparkling  gern  to  vie- 

The  beautiful  IRENE. 

n. 

She  is  the  incarnation  bright 

Of  some  angelic  thought  ; 
She  is  the  poetry  of  heaven 

In  human  figure  wrought ; 
And  never  yet  was  writ  or  read 

So  sweet  a  book,  I  ween, 
As  that  fair  volume  of  delight  — 

The  beautiful  IRENE. 


58  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

III. 

Her  close  alliance  to  the  skies 

Is  seen  in  all  her  ways  ; 
We  know  it  by  her  gentleness, 

We  feel  it  in  her  lays  ; 
And  who  can  tell  how  bright  and  blest — 

How  ever  fresh  and  green  — 
This  world  would  be,  if  all  were  like 

The  beautiful  IRENE  ! 

IV. 

There  is  no  winter  where  she  smiles, 

No  darkness  where  she  dwells  ; 
She  is  a  morning  on  the  hills, 

A  May  among  the  dells. 
The  groves  and  valleys  know  their  spring, 

The  roses  know  their  queen, 
And  all  the  wild-birds  sing  in  tune 

To  beautiful  IRENE. 

v. 

I  well  remember  all  the  songs 

She  sung  me  at  Lanier's  ; 
They  fell  upon  my  melting  heart 

Like  music  from  the  spheres  ; 


IRENE.  50 


And  still  as  sweet  as  silver  bells 
O'er  waters  heard  at  e'en, 

The  siren-notes  are  sounding  on, 
Of  beautiful  IRENE. 


VI. 

Oh,  let  me  wander  where  I  may, 

From  Georgia's  valleys  bright, 
To  where  the  Brazos  rolls  its  waves 

In  musical  delight— 
Fond  Memory  still  will  turn  to  hail, 

Through  every  changing  scene, 
The  gem  that  decks  her  native  land- 

The  beautiful  IRENE. 


VII. 

Sweet  mistress  of  the  tuneful  art, 

Bright  child  of  melody, 
My  star,  my  poem,  and  my  spring, 

All  happiness  to  thee  !  — 
May  sorrow  never  reach  thy  heart, 

No  shadows  intervene, 
To  dim  the  Eden  blooming  there, 

Sweet,  beautiful  IRENE. 


60  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

VIII. 

And  when  thy  bright  career  is  o'er 

Of  loveliness  and  grace, 
And  thou  art  called  among  the  stars, 

To  take  thy  shining  place  — 
Oh,  mayst  thou  to  that  higher  home 

Ascend  in  all  thy  sheen, 
And  be  the  morning  planet  there, 

Sweet,  beautiful  IRENE  ! 

MONTGOMERY,  ALABAMA. 


GRIEVE    NOT,     SWEET     FLOWER.  61 


GRIEVE    NOT,    SWEET    FLOWER, 

TO     A     YOUNG     LADY     OF     MOBILE. 


GRIEVE  not,  sweet  flower,  to  leave  these  shades, 

Grieve  not  to  say  farewell ; 
Ye  soon  shall  find  a  happier  home, 

Where  heavenly  beauties  dwell. 
Transplanted  on  my  fair  one's  breast, 

To  shed  your  fragrance  there, 
Each  breath  of   life  will  far  outweigh 

Whole  centuries  elsewhere. 

n. 

'T  was  thus  I  whispered  to  the  Rose, 

As  from  the  dewy  dell 
I  plucked  it  for  my  favorite  fair  — 

The  lass  I  love  so  well. 
Nor  will  a  gentle  one  like  her, 

Reject  the  gift  I  bring  — 
Because  she  is  herself  a  flower, 

Outblooming  all  the  spring. 


62  VERSE     MEMORIALS. 

III. 

Then  take,  fair  maiden,  take  the  Rose- 

It  blooms  alone  for  thee  ; 
And  while  it  basks  beneath  thy  smile, 

More  blest  than  I  can  be, 
Oh,  may  it  whisper  what  I  feel, 

Yet  tremble  to  avow  — 
A  passion  deep  and  long  indulged, 

But  never  named  till  now. 


LAMENT    FOR     LORETTO.  63 


LAMENT    FOR    LORETTO. 

DEDICATED    TO    HER    MOTHER, 
MRS.     HAKDMAX,     E  U  F  A  U  L  A,     ALABAMA. 


MILD,  blue-eyed  queen  —  enchanting  Spring  ! 

O'er  mountain,  dell,  and  plain, 
Thou  scatterst  with  a  liberal  hand 

The  blessings  of  thy  reign  ; 
Ten  thousand  happy,  happy  hearts 

Thy  glad  return  will  hail, 
And  who  should  love  thee  more  than  we, 

Of  bright  Eufaula's  vale  ? 

n. 

And  yet,  sweet  Spring,  although  thou  com'st, 

In  radiant  beauty  drest, 
Thou  bring' st  no  solace  to  our  woes  — 

No  sunshine  to  the  breast. 
'T  is  ours  to  mourn  the  early  dead, 

A  child  of  beauty  rare, 
Whose  presence  made  all  seasons  bright  — 

A  spring-time  everywhere. 


64  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

III. 

We  find  her  not  in  dale  nor  dell, 

We  miss  her  by  the  hearth, 
We  hear  no  more  her  joyous  laugh, 

The  music  of  her  mirth. 
The  bower  she  built  is  blooming  yet. 

The  flowers  are  fresh  and  fair, 
But  she  who  was  its  life  and  light 

Is  seen  no  longer  there. 

IV. 

She  was  a  joy  to  every  heart, 

A  light  to  every  eye, 
And  sadness  found  no  resting-place 

When  she  was  sporting  nigh. — 
Unless  thou  canst  that  flower  restore  - 

Bring  back  its  bloom  again. 
Sweet  Spring,  we  hail  not  thy  return- 

Thou  com'st  to  us  in  vain. 

V. 

0  blest  LORETTO,  beauteous  one, 
Mild  flow'ret  of  thy  race, 

No  vernal  joys  nor  vain  delights 
Can  fill  thy  ruined  place. 


LAMENT    FOR    LORETTO.  65 

Around  the  parent-stem  may  cling 

The  tendrils  of  the  vine, 
Yet  closer  still  around  the  heart 

Our  grief  for  thee  must  twine. 


VI. 

How  bright  and  brief  was  thy  career, 

How  like  the  star  of  eve — 
The  fairest  of  the  shining  train, 

And  first  to  take  its  leave !  — 
And  as  that  planet,  pure  and  bright, 

Goes  gladd'ning  down  the  west, 
So  didst  thou  sink,  in  all  the  light 

Of  loveliness,  to  rest. 

VII. 

Mild  evening  star !    we  may  not  grieve 

To  see  thy  light  decline, 
For  thou  wilt  come  to-morrow  eve, 

And  just  as  brightly  shine  ;  * 

But  how  can  we  our  grief  restrain, 

Or  cease  our  tears  to  pour, 
For  that  sweet  star  that  set  so  soon, 

And  comes  to  us  no  more  ! 
5 


66  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

VIII. 

And  is  it  thus  ? — is  loveliness 

A  perishable  light — 
A  blessing  lent  us  for  a  day, 

To  close  in  endless  night  ? 
No,  lost  one,  no — thou  art  not  dead  — 

Thy  beauty  can  not  die  ; 
And  we  shall  meet  again,  fair  child, 

In  thy  blest  home  on  high. 

IX. 

The  hope  of  this — the  pleasing  hope 

Our  parting  is  but  brief- 
Is  all  that  now  remains  to  us, 

Our  only  balm  of  grief. 
Then  let  us  cease  our  loud  lament, 

Nor  dare  our  GOD  upbraid  — 
The  hand,  in  time,  that  dealt  the  blow, 

Will  heal  the  wound  it  made. 


IN    LIFE'S    UNCLOUDED,    GAYER    HOUR.          67 


IN   LIFE'S   UNCLOUDED,  GAYER   HOUR, 

TO  A  LADY  IN  HOUSTON,  TEXAS. 
I. 

IN  life's  unclouded,  gayer  hour, 

I  bowed  to  beauty's  sway  ; 
I  felt  the  eye's  despotic  power, 

And  trembled  in  its  ray  ; 
But  beauty  now  no  more  enthralls — 

Its  magic  spell  hath  flown  ; 
Upon  my  heart  it  coldly  falls, 

Like  moonlight  on  a  stone. 

n. 

The  chords  of  feeling  soon  were  broke, 

Where  love  delighted  played ; 
Affliction  dealt  too  rude  a  stroke, 

And  all  in  ruin  laid  ; 
Yet,  lady  fair,  there  was  a  time 

I  might  have  worshipped  thee  ; 
Thy  beauty  would  have  been  the  shrine 

Of  my  idolatry. 


68  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

III. 

That  time  is  past,  and  I  am  left 

A  sad  sojourner  here — 
Of  hope,  of  joy,  of  all  bereft, 

That  makes  existence  dear. 
Despair  hath  o'er  my  bosom  cast 

The  gloom  of  starless  night  — 
A  darkness  which  through  life  must  last, 

Unpierced  by  beauty's  light. 


NORA.  69 


NORA, 

RICHMOND,     TEXAS. 
I. 

NOB  A,  cease  that  lively  lay  ; 

Vain  to  me  its  numbers  flow ; 
Sing  it  to  the  light  and  gay, 

Not  to  him  oppressed  with  wo. 
Flowery  songs  that  bind  to  earth, 
Songs  of  unreflecting  mirth, 
Sweet  to  others  though  they  be, 
No  fond  raptures  bring  to  me. 

n. 

Give  me  in  thy  gathered  breath, 

Gushing  songs  of  days  gone  by — 
Solemn  requiems  of  death, 

Wringing  tear-drops  from  the  eye. 
O'er  the  dead  I  love  to  weep, 
All  my  thoughts  are  where  they  sleep, 
And  I  may  not  brook  the  glee, 
Mindless  of  their  memory. 


70  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

III. 

If  thou  canst,  0  lady  fair, 

Charm  the  buried  back  again, 
Breathe,  oh  breathe  the  magic  air — 
Bless  me  with  the  heavenly  strain  ; 
And  the  forms  so  purely  bright, 
While  they  break  upon  my  sight, 
Thou,  with  them  beloved  so  well, 
Ever  in  my  heart  shalt  dwell. 

IV. 

Songs  thou  hast  of  siren  flow, 

Gloom  or  gladness  to  impart  — 
Soothing  to  the  mourner's  wo, 

Cheering  to  the  youthful  heart. 
Give  the  sad  ones  to  the  grave, 
To  the  young  the  merry  stave — 
Binding  thus  by  melody, 
Youth  and  age  alike  to  thee. 

v. 

And  in  life's  enchanting  pride, 
"When  to  Hymen's  rosy  bowers, 

Thou  art  led  a  blushing  bride, 

Brighter  than  thy  crowning  flowers, 


NORA.  71 


I,  thy  friend,  will  joy  to  see 
One  so  excellent  as  thec, 
Blest  with  all  that's  good  on  earth- 
Blest  according  to  thy  worth. 


72  VERSE     MEMORIALS. 


PERPETUAL   LOVE. 

i. 
PERPETUAL  love  plays  round  my  heart 

For  some  fair  form — I  don't  know  who; 
I  would  not  with  the  passion  part. 

Although  its  object  mocks  my  view. 

ii. 
To  meet  a  girl  with  sparkling  eye — 

She  is  that  phantom  of  my  breast ; 
But  if  a  brighter  pass  me  by, 

I  'in  sure  to  love  the  brighter  best. 

m. 
I  thought,  dear  LUCY,  long  ago, 

For  none  but  thee  my  soul  could  sigh  ; 
But  LAURA  spread  superior  glow — 

Love  waved  his  wings  and  bade  good-by. 

IV. 

Oh,  do  not  say  that  I'm  to  blame — 
'T  is  Nature's  fault  that  made  me  so ; 

Heaven  knows  my  love 's  a  constant  flame, 
But  who  I  love — I  do  not  know. 


OH,    IS    IT    NOT    A     PITY,     NOW?  73 


OH,   IS   IT    NOT    A   PITY,    NOW? 

TO     A     YOUNG     LADY     IN     MILLEDGEVILLE,     GEORGIA. 


OH,  is  it  not  a  pity,  now, 

That  I  am  growing  old  ; 
That  Time  has  written  on  my  brow, 

So  legibly  and  bold, 
What  every  glancing  eye  may  see, 

And  folly  can  not  hide  — 
That  I  am  now,  of  fifty-three, 

Upon  the  shady  side  ? 

II. 

The  happy  days,  so  gay  and  bright, 

I  never  can  recall, 
When  beauty  was  a  great  delight, 

And  love  was  all  in  all. 
The  spring  of  life  is  quickly  fled — 

And  when  it  hath  declined, 
A  wintry  heart  and  hoary  head 

Are  all  it  leaves  behind. 


74  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

III. 

Yet,  lady  fair,  to  whom  I  pour 
This  light  and  laughing  lay, 

If  guilty  Time  could  but  restore 
The  gifts  he  bore  away, 

I  then  might  breathe  a  softer  tale, 

A  more  devoted  strain  ; 

I 

And  oh,  if  passion  might  prevail, 
I  should  not  sing  in  vain. 

IV. 

Behold  imbedded  in  thy  ring 

That  gem  of  sparkling  dye, 
Thy  fairy  hand  illumining 

With  lustre  like  thine  eye  ;  — 
So  should  my  heart  encircle  thee, 

And  thou,  implanted  there, 
My  pure  and  sparkling  gem  shouldst  be, 

To  light  me  everywhere. 


SALLY    RILEY. 


IN     TWO     CANTOS 


SALLY    RILEY. 

1825. 


CANTO   I. 


SCRIBBLERS  there  are  who  ne'er  to  truth  aspire ; 

Insensible  to  guilt's  compunctious  shame, 
They  prostitute  their  venal  minds  for  hire, 

And  stab,  assassin-like,  at  worth  and  fame. 
Oh,  let  them  to  their  destined  hell  depart, 
As  deeply  damned  as  they  're  corrupt  in  heart ! 

ii. 

I'll  mention  one — the  low,  abandoned  knave, 
TVho  publishes  a  paper  called  "  Diurnal ;" 

A  ready  rascal  and  a  shameless  slave, 
He  labors  daily  in  his  task  infernal, 

To  vent  on  truth  his  helleboric  breath  — 

A  human  Upas,  spreading  moral  death. 


78  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

III. 

0  Mr.  GRANTLAND,  never  like  that  elf 

Withhold  the  meed  to  worth  and  talents  due  ; 

And  from  the  right  be  never  swerved  by  pelf, 
But  still  your  old  accustomed  course  pursue, 

To  scourge  the  graceless  scoundrels  of  the  times  - 

Be  sure — nay,  very  sure — you  print  my  rhymes. 


IV. 

I  do  not  write  for  popular  applause  ; 

I  can  not  lie,  the  multitude  to  please  ; 
Nor  heed  I  aught  your  plodding  schoolman's  laws  ; 

I  take  whatever  course  may  suit  my  ease, 
At  random  steering  by  the  rudder  rhyme  — 
Bound  to  no  port,  and  careless  of  the  clime. 


v. 

And  ask  ye,  reader,  wherefore  I  aspire, 
In  spite  of  genius,  to  a  rambling  song, 

Regardless  of  the  critic's  vengeful  ire?  — 

Perhaps  ye  think  it  is  umvise — nay,  wrong — 

To  con  the  verse  that  can  not  purchase  fame  ; 

A  skilless  effort  is  the  heir  of  shame. 


SALLY    RILEY. 


VI. 

I  write  obsequious  to  iny  fair  one's  will, 
And  seek  no  recompense  beyond  her  smiles  ; 

If  she  can  tolerate  my  want  of  skill, 
I  little  heed  who  censures  or  reviles  ; 

At  her  command  I'll  rhyme  till  reason  reels, 

Though  every  critic  cur  conies  yelping  at  my  heels. 


VII. 

I  know  that  Nature  never  did  infuse 
In  my  lethargic  clay  poetic  fires  ; 

Nor  did  I  ever  wish  to  woo  the  muse  — 
Sad  is  the  lot  of  him  whom  she  inspires  — 

Especially  if  poor — he  ne'er  shall  claim 

The  smiles  of  beauty  or  the  meeds  of  fame. 


VIII. 

I  had  a  friend — the  best  I  ever  had — 

The  sweetest  minstrel  of  his  day  and  time  ; 

He  was,  indeed,  a  very  gifted  lad, 

And  oft  the  village  echoed  with  his  rhyme. 

But  he  in  life  was  spurned  —  in  death,  forgotten  ; 

And  .why  ? — because  he'd  neither  cash  nor  cotton. 


80  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

IX. 

No  more  remembered  is  the  child  of  song — 
The  warm,  devoted,  and  aspiring  youth, 

Whose  spirit  was  a  river  rolling  strong, 
Melodious  in  love,  and  powerful  in  truth  ; 

His  worth,  his  genius,  and  his  tuneful  strains, 

Were  all  sepulchred  with  his  cold  remains. 


x. 

By  menial  hands  the  humble  bier  was  borne, 
And  he  was  placed  at  rest,  with  few  to  weep  ; 

But  Nature  seems  her  fav'rite  bard  to  mourn — 
For  in  the  valley,  where  his  ashes  sleep, 

She  plants  perennial  flowers  of  every  hue, 

And  bathes  them  nightly  with  her  tears  of  dew. 


No  marble  rises  by  the  willow-tree, 

No  verse  invokes  the  tribute  of  a  tear  ; 

Unlettered  dullness  scorns  his  memory, 
And  kindred  genius  ceases  to  revere  ; 

These  lowly  lines — which  may  not  hope  to  live  — 

Are  all  I  have,  and  these  I  fondly  give 


SALLY    HILEY.  81 


XII. 

In  token  of  my  love.  —  I  have  no  art 
To  paint  his  virtues,  or  describe  iny  wo  ; 

But  surely  he  must  have  a  marble  heart, 
Insensible  to  every  generous  glow, 

Who  can  not  weep — who  has  no  tears  to  shed — 

When  memory  wakes  to  view  some  friend  long  dead. 


XIII. 

Poor  HAL  has  winged  his  way  to  realms  above, 
Where  none  can  enter  but  the  pure  in  heart ; 

That  I  may  meet  him  in  that  land  of  love, 
Oh,  let  me  from  his  maxims  ne'er  depart. 

How  pleasant  will  it  be  to  recognise 

Each  other,  as  we  tread  along  the  skies  ! 


XIV. 

I  've  thought  the  sweetest  flower  that  scents  the  grove, 
Was  oft  the  first  to  lose  its  vernal  bloom  ; 

I've  thought  the  child  of  poesy  and  love 
Was  oft  the  earliest  victim  to  the  tomb. 

Is  there  no  power  the  sinking  rose  to  save  ? 

Can  no  one  snatch  bright  genius  from  the  grave  ? 


82  VERSE     MEMORIALS. 

XV. 

0  Doctor  PANGLOSS  !    what  avails  thy  skill, 
If  thou  canst  not  delay  the  parting  breath  ? 

Hast  thou  no  compound  rare  —  no  potent  pill  — 
With  which  to  combat  and  to  baffle  Death  ? 

Methinks,  indeed,  a  brain  like  thine,  prolific, 

Should  never  be  at  fault  for  a  specific. 


XVI. 

Long  hast  thou  been  thy  teeming  genius  training, 
To  perpetrate  a  book  with  wisdom  rife  — 

Perchance  of  deep  philosophy  —  explaining 
The  grand  phenomena  of  human  life. 

When  wilt  thou  print? — then  none  shall  physic  need; 

Thy  book  will  physic  every  one  who'll  read. 


XVII. 

Go  on,  dear  doctor — in  thy  closet  work — 
I  laugh  sometimes,  but  still  admit  thy  worth  ; 

Nor  gall  nor  envy  in  my  heart  can  lurk ; 
And  sure  thou  canst  forgive  a  little  mirth, 

E'en  at  thy  own  expense.     In  former  times 

Didst  thou  not  pen  some  quite  unsparing  rhymes  ? 


SALLY    RILEY.  83 


XVIII. 

Oft  have  I  read  thy  high-resounding  verse 

"With  profit  and  delight ; — but  since  thy  Muse  • 

Doth  not  disdain  to  play  at  cut  and  tierce, 

Thou  must  not  murmur  if  my  own  should  choose, 

In  sportive  mood,  to  have  at  thee,  old  friend, 

And  for  thine  Oliver  a  Rowland  send. 


XIX. 

Then  on,  I  say — the  critics  may  deride 

Thy  "  words  of  learned  length  and  thundering  sound  ;" 

And  they  may  say  thou  hast  pedantic  pride, 
And  call  thy  noddle  an  obscure  profound; 

But  never  let  them  work  thee  to  vexation  — 

To  murder  honest  fame  is  their  vocation. 


XX. 

As  for  myself,  I  scorn  the  rabid  throng ; 

I  do  n't  their  wit  nor  hateful  malice  dread  ; 
Deaf  to  their  rage,  I  still  pursue  my  song, 

Though  dull  it  be  as  Johnny's  anvil-head. 
'T  is  SALLY  RILEY  that  demands  the  lay  ; 
'Tis  fame  to  please  her — pleasure  to  obey. 


VERSE     MEMORIALS. 


XXI. 

Oh,  SALLY  EILEY  is  a  lovely  lass, 

In  whom  the  light  of  every  virtue  dwells  — 

A  bright  divinity  that  doth  surpass 

All  earthly  forms  in  weaving  magic  spells  : 

The  fetters  which  her  young,  aurora  face, 

Entwines  around  the  heart,  no  other  can  displace. 


XXII. 

I  well  remember  when  I  met  her  first, 

And  all  the  rapture  of  the  heavenly  sight  ; 

She  broke  upon  me  like  a  sudden  burst 

Of  glory  from  the  realms  of  love  and  light ; 

And  never  did  a  Chaldee  watch  his  star 

With  more  devotion  than  I  worshipped  her. 


XXIII. 

She  had  that  day  been  through  the  city  shopping, 
And  called  at  Mr.  Shaw's  to  buy  a  sash  ; 

And  I — as  if  by  accident — did  pop  in 

The  moment  she  was  counting  down  the  cash  ; 

And  from  that  very  time  that  I  first  met  her, 

I  vowed  I'd  marry  her  —  if  I  could  get  her. 


SALLY    RILEY.  85 


XXIV. 

Two  other  girls  were  with  her  —  soon  the  three, 
Together  linking  with  their  'kimbo  arms, 

Departed  from  the  store  in  merry  glee, 

With  such  high  lustre  streaming  from  their  charms, 

As  gave  a  double  brilliance  to  the  day, 

And  swept  all  shadows  lying  in  their  way. 


xxv. 

The  one  was  of  a  tall,  attractive  shape, 

But  seldom  equalled,  and  surpassed  by  none  ; 

She  wore  a  deep  vermilion  Canton  crape, 

That  glistened  as  its  foldings  caught  the  sun  ; 

Her  ostrich-feathers  nodded  to  the  skies, 

And  lambent  lightnings  arrowed  from  her  eyes. 


xxvr. 

The  other  was  of  stature  rather  low, 
And  was  in  cambric  very  neatly  drest ; 

Disdaining  gewgaw  and  fantastic  show, 

She  deemed  that  simple  beauty  was  the  best- 

And  never  sought  a  dandy  dunce  to  win, 

With  shining  tinsel  or  a  practised  grin. 


86  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

XXVII. 

No — she  was  Nature's  unaffected  child, 
Exempt  from  all  the  blandishment  of  art ; 

Her  modest  mien,  and  manners  ever  niild, 
Bespoke  the  gentle  nature  of  her  heart ; 

And  he  who  weds  that  girl  need  never  roam 

For  bliss — she'll  make  a  paradise  of  home. 


XXVIII. 

But  SALLY  was  the  gem  for  me — far,  far 
Outshining  every  pure  and  sparkling  thing  ; 

Hers  was  the  beauty  of  a  new-born  star, 

The  morning's  glory,  and  the  bloom  of  spring. 

No  mortal  might  behold  her  eyes  and  live, 

Did  not  her  sweetness  soothe  the  wounds  they  give. 


XXIX. 

The  moonbeams  dancing  on  the  waters  bright, 
The  singing  of  the  birds  at  dewy  dawn, 

The  sweet-brier's  odor,  and  the  lily's  white, 
The  waving  osier,  and  the  gliding  swan, 

Are  all  delightful  things — in  which  we  trace 

Her  smiles  and  melody,  her  purity  and  grace. 


SALLY    RILEY. 


87 


XXX. 

I  will  not  try  to  paint  the  rainbow's  hues, 
Nor  sketch  the  splendor  of  supernal  day. 

What  bard  may  render  justice  to  the  rose, 
Or  concentrate  its  fragrance  in  his  lay  ? 

And  yet  these  tasks  were  easier  far,  I  ween, 

Than  weave  in  song  my  fair  one's  heavenly  sheen. 


t  xxxi. 

She  is,  indeed,  the  jewel  of  her  race, 

And,  like  the  diamond,  shines  without  a  peer  ; 

The  fairest  belle  that  worships  her  own  face, 
Is  but  the  dark  antithesis  of  her  ; 

And  he  who  would  her  dazzling  lights  portray, 

Must  dip  his  pencil  in  celestial  ray. 


XXXII. 

One  girl  hath  a  good  heart — another,  sense  ; 

A  third,  distinguished  for  her  beauty  bright;  — 
But  where  is  she,  of  such  rare  excellence, 

In  whom  these  qualities  do  all  unite  ? 
Such  fair  perfection,  Envy  must  allow, 
Was  dear  MARIA'S  once — is  SALLY'S  now. 


VERSE    MEMORIALS. 
XXXIII. 

Ay  —  not  to  beauty's  fascinating  power 
Is  SALLY  BILEY'S  loveliness  confined ; 

Beauty  is  rightly  called  a  fading  flower— 
Its  glories  soon  are  scattered  in  the  wind. 

Heaven  did  to  her  two  richer  gems  impart— 

A  mind  reflective,  and  a  feeling  heart. 


xxxiv. 

Who  that  has  ever  heard  her  counsels  wise, 

Can  doubt  the  soul  of  goodness  whence  they  came  ? 

When  laughs  her  heart,  and  sport  lights  up  her  eyes, 
What  stoic  breast,  so  spiritless  and  tame, 

As  not  to  revel  in  the  wit  that  flbws  ?  — 

I  always  wish  the  strain  might  never  close. 


xxxv. 

0  ye  proud  belles,  in  whom  no  merit  glows, 
Whose  value  quadrates  with  your  fathers'  pence, 

Be  it  your  task  to  win  the  brainless  beaux  — 
'T  is  SALLY'S  praise  to  please  all  men  of  sense  ; 

The  world  may  woo  you — woo  you  for  your  pelf; 

The  world  loves  SALLY — loves  her  for  herself. 


SALLY     RILEY.  89 


XXXVI. 

To  genius,  truth,  and  modesty  unknown, 
Go,  flutter  like  the  moth,  in  rich  brocade  ; 

For,  nursed  in  folly,  and  in  pride  full-blown, 
Your  low  ambition  lies  in  vain  parade. 

To  bankrupt  gentlemen  ye  are  a  prize, 

But  never  need  ye  hope  to  win  the  wise. 


XXXVII. 

Go,  wed  some  doctor  with  cadaverous  jaw, 
Whose  idle  drugs  are  moulding  on  the  shelf; 

Go,  wed  some  lawyer,  who  can  't  practise  law, 
But 's  doomed  to  have  it  practised  on  himself ; 

Or,  take  the  merchant,  who  must  shortly  fail  — 

Be  locked  in  wedlock,  or  be  locked  in  jail. 


XXXVIII. 

Oh,  these  will  tell  you  that  you  're  fresh  and  fair, 
Though  horrible  as  MILTON'S  Death  and  Sin  ; 

And  that  you  're  witty  too  they  '11  freely  swear, 
Though  all  Bceotia's  darkness  reigns  within. 

'Tis  gold  extorts  their  praise  —  not  wit  nor  beauty — 

And  well  they  know  that  flattery  gains  the  booty. 


90  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 


XXXIX. 

Far  nobler  conquests  SALLY  makes  than  these  ; 

Her  frowns  repel  the  mercenary  slave  ; 
But  ah  !    she  has  the  power  and  will  to  please 

The  virtuous,  generous,  and  the  brave. 
Then  come,  ye  witless  belles,  in  her  behold 
What  ye  have  not — some  worth  that  is  not  gold. 

XL. 

She  is — but  stay!  —  some  other  time  I'll  sing 
Her  praise,  in  bolder  verse,  if  I  am  able  ; 

But  now  I  hear  the  bell  for  dinner  ring, 
And  this  is  MARY'S  week  to  grace  the  table. 

Excuse  me — I  must  go  —  indeed,  I  think 

That  bards,  as  other  folks,  should  eat  and  drink. 


SALLY    RILEY. 


1843. 


CANTO  II. 
I. 

SOME  eighteen  years  ago,  when  I  was  young, 
And  life  was  one  continued  vernal  day, 

I  then  my  harp  to  SALLY  KILEY  strung, 
And  to  its  music  framed  a  merry  lay  — 

But  left  it  incomplete. — I  now  rewake 

The  slumbering  chords  for  old  affection's  sake. 

II. 

My  former  canto  closed  with  SALLY'S  praise ; 

To  honor  SALLY  was  my  great,  high  aim ; 
And  I  had  hoped,  in  more  exalted  lays, 

To  place  her  on  the  Teneriffe  of  fame  :  — 
But  from  some  cause,  to  me  quite  unexpected, 
She  ridiculed  my  verse,  and  love  rejected. 


92  TERSE    MEMORIALS. 


III. 


This  made  me  angry,  and  I  dropped  the  theme, 
And  left  her  beauties  unimniortalized ; 

"A  change  came  o'er  the  spirit  of  my  dream," 
And  she  who  was  so  once  beloved  and  prized, 

Now  o'er  my  altered  mature  lost  her  power, 

And  SALLY  was  to  me  as  any  other  flower. 


IV. 

"  Of  chance  and  change,  oh  let  not  man  complain  ; 

Else  never,  never  will  he  cease  to  wail."  — 
Thus  sung  the  minstrel  in  his  truthful  strain, 

Knowing  full  well  how  fickle  and  how  frail 
Are  all  things  here  below,  and  prone  to  vex — 
Especially  in  reference  to  the  softer  sex. 


V. 

There's  no  stability  in  all  creation  — 
No  permanence  in  matter  or  in  mind  ; 

E'en  rocks  themselves  are  subject  to  mutation. 
In  every  earthly  thing  some  change  we  find — 

Except  my  purse  —  there  is  no  change  in  that  — 

Not  e'en  enough  to  buy  a  Roram  hat. 


SALLY     1ULEY.  93 


VI. 

But  woman  is —  of  all  this  shifting  sphere  — 
The  most  unstable,  fluctuating  ray  ; 

Fair  Cynthia  changes  thirteen  times  a  year, 
But  woman  changes  oftcner  every  day  ; 

And  yet,  like  Cynthia  too,  I  must  confess, 

No  change  destroys  her  light  of  loveliness. 


VII. 

For  ever  varying,  and  for  ever  bright, 
She  circles  in  an  orbit  wild  and  wide, 

Yet  scatters  blessings  in  her  wayward  flight 
That  make  us  feel  she  is  to  Heaven  allied — 

A  bright  embodiment  of  fascinations, 

In  spite  of  all  her  devilish  vacillations. 


VIII. 

'Twas  so  with  SALLY — once  she  was,  indeed, 
As  true  to  me  as  needle  to  the  pole  ;  — 

Although  I  sometimes  deemed  the  Turkish  creed 
Was  half-way  true — that  women  have  no  soul — • 

A  jealous  thought,  that  rose  like  visions  wild, 

But  always  vanished  when  my  fair  one  smiled. 


94  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

IX. 

But,  like  her  sex,  she  changed. — The  verse  divine 
She  bade  me  build,  she  called  it  Namby-Pamby ; 

And  took  my  rival's  hand  instead  of  mine, 

Which  made  me  take  at  Ware's  a  glass  of  brandy ; 

Yet  wit  and  sweetness  lingered  round  her  -still, 

And  won  my  praise,  despite  of  every  ill. 


x. 

Nor  will  I  now  that  lovely  one  upbraid, 
Nor  wound  her  spirit  by  a  word  unkind  ; 

She  was,  in  sooth,  a  very  gentle  maid, 
In  manners,  taste,  and  feelings,  all  refined, 

And  never  erred  but  once — but  let  that  rest — 

She  doubtless  meant  it  kindly  for  the  best. 


XI. 

And  how  I  bore  my  sufferings  at  that  time, 
It  little  boots  the  reader  now  to  know  ; 

Perchance  I  drowned  them  in  a  flood  of  rhyme, 
Or  in  the  goblet's  more  oblivious  flow  ; 

There's  one  thing  certain — that  I  did  not  choose 

To  terminate  them  in  a  running:  noose. 


SALLY     RILEY,  95 


Oh,  Love  to  me  may  be  a  welcome  guest, 
But  never  can  it  mar  my  summer  day  ; 

The  warrior's  steel  may  penetrate  my  breast, 
But  woman's  scorn  and  coldness  can  not  slay  ; 

The  spells  of  beauty  and  the  tricks  of  art 

May  chain  awhile,  but  can  not  crush  the  heart. 


xm. 

I  love  no  longer,  when  I  love  in  vain  ; 

I  leave  the  chary  for  the  smiling  maid — 
And  she  who  treats  my  passion  with  disdain, 

Her  scorn  shall  be  with  tenfold  scorn  repaid ; 
Proud  Beauty  can  not  triumph  in  her  whims, 
Unless  the  lamp  of  hope  she  duly  trims. 


XIV. 

My  love  for  SALLY  was  an  honest  glow, 
And  seemed  inflexible  as  Fate's  decree. 

;'  Wilt  thou  be  mine  ?" — the  gipsy  answered,  "  No  !"- 
Which  set  at  once  my  captive  spirit  free  ; 

That  word  dissolved  the  force  of  Beauty's  spell, 

And  Love,  insulted,  bade  a  long  farewell. 


96  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

XV. 

0  SALLY  RILEY — SALLY  RILEY  0!  — 

Some  eighteen  years  have  passed  since  last  we  met, 
And  I  have  felt  the  weight  of  many  a  wo  ; 

But  never  could,  in  all  my  griefs,  forget 
The  happy  days,  when  o'er  my  spirit  bright, 
Thy  beauty  poured  a  luminous  delight.    . 


XVI. 

I  still  behold  thee  in  thine  early  pride, 
In  all  the  brightness  of  thy  morning  ray  ; 

And  thoughts  and  feelings  through  my  bosom  glide 
That  make  our  parting  seem  like  yesterday. 

Mild  planet  of  my  youth's  idolatry, 

Thou  beamest  on  me  still — a  star  of  memory. 


XVII. 

Thy  smile,  as  brilliant  as  the  rainbow's  hues  ; 

Thy  voice,  as  pleasant  as  the  laughing  streams  : 
Thy  step,  that  scarcely  shook  the  morning  dews  ; 

Thy  song,  that  flowed  like  music  in  my  dreams - 
Are  all  to  me  as  palpable  as  when, 
In  youthful  days,  we  frolicked  down  the  glen. 


SALLY    RILEY.  97 


XVIII. 

The  tricks  you  played  me,  and  your  saucy  ways  ; 

The  wild-goose  chases  into  which  you  lured  me ; 
The  ridicule  you  threw  upon  my  lays ; 

And,  finally,  the  jilt,  that  fairly  cured  me 
Of  love  and  madness,  and  my  rhymes  absurd, 
Are  all  forgotten  now; — they  are,  upon  my  word! 


XIX. 

I  know  thee  only  as  an  ornament 

Of  womankind — a  star  of  light  and  truth — 
My  best,  bright  friend,  whose  name  is  blent 

With  all  that  was  delightful  in  my  youth, 
When  pleasures  thronged  apace,  without  alloy, 
And  thou  th'e  light  and  life,  the  soul  of  every  joy. 


xx. 

But  every  earthly  pleasure  hath  its  bane, 
And  darkness  follows  Fancy's  vivid  rays  ; 

The  power  that  bids  thy  beauties  bloom  again, 
Revives  the  pangs  of  long-departed  days, 

And  makes  me  pour  afresh  affliction's  tears 

For  the  beloved  and  lost  of  other  years. 


98  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

XXI. 

Oh,  where  are  now  those  fair,  enchanting  maids, 
Who  used  to  circle  round  thy  father's  hearth  ? 

Or,  lightly  sporting  in  Oconee's  shades, 

Made  hills  and  valleys  echo  with  their  mirth  ?  — 

Alas  !   along  the  margin  of  those  waves,  [graves. 

Sweet  roses,  like  themselves,  are  blooming  o'er  their 


xxn. 

I'll  name  them  not — the  theme  is  one  of  grief — 
And  who  will  now  with  me  their  doom  deplore  ? 

And  yet  I  sometimes  think  'twould  bring  relief 
To  many  of  my  woes,  if  I  could  pour 

My  love  and  gratitude,  in  one  full  song, 

To  those  whose  memories  I  have  cherished  long. 


xxin. 

But  this  may  never  be — for  though  my  heart 
May  feel  the  fervor  of  poetic  fires, 

Yet  Nature  has  denied  the  pleasing  art 

To  clothe  in  words  the  feelings  she  inspires ; 

And  I  must  still  in  silence  bear  my  cares, 

Which  have  no  voice,  except  the  voice  of  tears. 


SALLY    RILEY.  99 


XXIV. 

Then  fare  yc  well,  ye  once-delightful  train — 
Sweet  listeners  to,  and  laughers  at,  my  lays  ; 

"When  I  contrast  the  glories  of  your  reign 
With  all  the  evil  of  these  after-days, 

I  wish  that  mine  had  been  your  early  doom, 

Instead  of  lingering  here  to  weep  o'er  Beauty's  tomb. 


XXV. 

I  met  a  Rose  in  life's  tumultuous  hour, 

As  bright  as  ever  bloomed  on  Sharon's  field  ; 

But  when  I  went  to  pluck  the  shining  flower, 
I  felt  the  thorn  beneath  its  charms  concealed :  — 

Oh,  SALLY  RILEY  was  that  rose  and  thorn — 

I  wooed  her  beauties  and  received  her  scorn. 


XXVI. 

I  then  beheld  a  Lily  in  the  vale, 

And  loved  it  dearly  from  the  day  I  found  it ; 
It  blushed  to  hear  my  warm,  impassioned  tale, 

But  sweetly  smiled  when  to  my  heart  I  bound  it. 
That  thornless  flower  was  one  whose  cherished  name 
I  hold  too  sacred  for  the  songs  I  frame. 


100  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

XXVII. 

But  how  can  I  of  her  unmindful  prove, 

Who  blest  me  with  the  light  of  her  blue  eyes, 

And  gave  me  all  she  had — life,  soul,  and  love, 
And  now  is  smiling  on  me  from  the  skies  ? 

Oh,  that  I  had  the  gift  of  deathless  song, 

That  I  might  sing  of  her,  and  not  her  memory  wrong 


xxvm. 

She  was  all  beauty,  melody,  and  mirth — 

A  spirit  bright,  that  gladdened  soul  and  eye  ; 

But  as  the  fair  and  cherished  things  of  earth, 
Whose  sweetness  links  them  to  their  kindred  sky, 

Are  always  first  to  wither  and  to  fall — 

So  "perished  she,  the  loveliest  o'f  them  all. 


XXIX. 

Brief  was  the  space — a  few  enchanting  years, 
Between  her  bridal  and  her  burial  day  ; 

With  soul  serene,  and  eye  undimmed  by  tears, 
She  smiled  upon  her  friends  and  passed  away, 

Like  some  bright  star  that  blendcth  with  the  morn  — 

A  welcome  one  to  realms  where  she  was  born. 


SALLY     RILEY.  101 


XXX. 

To  yonder  valley's  dark  and  lonely  shade, 

Where  winds  and  streams  and  birds  their  music  blend, 

As  if  they  sought  my  silence  to  upbraid, 

By  pouring  requiems  which  myself  should  send, 

Her  cold  remains  were  borne,  and  buried  there, 

Beneath  the  willow  sad,  that  shareth  my  despair. 


XXXI. 

But  oh,  her  spirit  from  this  world  of  wo 
Was  borne  by  angels  to  her  home  above  ; 

And  she  who  was  my  Lily  here  below, 
Is  now  a  Seraph  in  the  land  of  love  ; 

And  I  am  left  abandoned  and  forlorn  — 

My  life  a  long,  long1  night,  without  the  hope  of  morn. 


XXXII. 

At  random  driven  by  the  stormy  breeze, 

With  breakers  roaring  round  him  wild  and  hoarse, 

Behold  the  mariner  on  rocky  seas, 

Without  his  polar  star  to  point  his  course  :  — 

So  am  I  sweeping  now  o'er  life's  dark  tide, 

Without  my  planet  bright,  which  might  in  safety  guide. 


102  VERSE     MEMORIALS. 

XXXIII. 

0  Memory,  thou  art  no  friend  to  me  ; 

For  though  my  life  has  flowed  in  Honor's  ways, 
By  crimes  untarnished  and  from  falsehood  free, 

Still  on  the  gloomy  past  I  may  not  gaze 
With  rapture  or  delight — I  there  behold 
Unnumbered  woes,  and  sorrows  yet  untold. 


xxxiv. 

And  thou,  fair  Hope,  with  bright,  fallacious  smile' 
To  me  thy  promises  are  vainly  made  ; 

No  more  canst  thou  my  weary  soul  beguile, 
Which  thou  so  oft  hast  flattered  and  betrayed  ; 

Still  gloomy  as  the  past,  my  coming  years 

Must  darkly  roll  in  solitude  and  tears. 


XXXV. 

If,  in  the  social  hour,  I  sometimes  seem 

To  wear  the  smile  of  youth's  enchanting  prime, 

'Tis  but  a  borealis  light— a  gleam 

That  springeth  from  a  dark  and  frozen  clime  ; 

And  only  serves  my  sufferings  to  conceal  — 

To  hide  the  wounds  which  Time  can  never  heal. 


SALLY     RILEY.  103 


XXXVI. 

And  if  along  the  sacred  dells  and  plains, 

Where,  with  my  early  friends,  I  used  to  stray, 

I  sometimes  pour  my  rude,  unpolished  strains, 
As  I  am  pouring  now  this  lowly  lay  — 

I  court  no  purpose,  but  the  peace  that  springs 

From  contemplation  and  the  sounding  strings. 


XXXVII. 

For  fame  and  fortune  let  me  not  contend — 
They  bring  no  rapture  to  the  tortured  mind ; 

But  thou,  sweet  Poesy — affliction's  friend— 

Thine  is  the  power  the  bleeding  heart  to  bind  ; 

E'en  songs  like  mine,  though  all  devoid  of  skill, 

May  soften  wo,  and  fortify  an  ill. 


xxxvni. 

Then  who  shall  blame  me,  though  I  fail  to  please 
The  polished  ear,  familiar  to  the  Nine  ? 

'Tis  meet  that  he  on  every  source  should  seize, 
To  soothe  his  heart  whose  sorrows  are  like  mine — 

Whose  sorrows  may  not  cease  till  life  shall  close, 

And  I  may  find  in  heaven  my  long-desired  repose. 


104  VEKSE    MEMORIALS. 

XXXIX. 

And,  like  my  life,  behold  my  present  lay — 

• 
Begun  in  gayety,  to  close  in  gloom. 

Then  let  me  pause  awhile  —  some  happier  day 

I  may,  perhaps,  my  humble  harp  resume, 
And  with  its  lighter  tones  thy  praises  blend, 
0  SALLY  RILEY  dear,  my  unforgotten  friend ! 


ELEGIAC. 


NOTE. 

THE  six  following  poems  —  and  particularly  the  last  four  —  are  so  nearly 
connected  in  subject  and  thought,  that  it  seems  necessary  to  state  that  they 
were  all  written  while  the  heart  was  yet  bleeding  under  the  bereavement  tc 
which  they  allude.  Notwithstanding  the  similarity  of  sentiment  and  feeling 
—  and  in  a  few  instances  of  language  also  —  that  pervades  them,  the  author 
is  not  willing  to  disconnect  them,  and  still  less  to  suppress  any  of  them,  as 
they  are  the  memorials,  not  only  of  departed  worth,  but  of  a  period  of  sorrow 
and  suffering  whose  dark  shadows  are  in  sacred  contrast  with  the  calm  sun- 
shiue  of  his  present  life. 


WRITTEN     AT     THE     GRAVE     OP     MY     AVIFE. 
I. 

THOU  idol  of  my  soul,  adieu ! 

With  one  so  loved,  't  is  hard  to  part ; 
Thine  angel-form  still  haunts  my  view, 

And  lives  within  the  constant  heart 

That  soon  must  break  for  thee. 

n. 

• 

When  spring  returns,  each  modest  flower 
That  wears  thy  grace,  shall  blossom  here  ; 

And  oft  I'll  come,  at  twilight  hour, 
To  bathe  their  beauties  with  the  tear 
Of  memory  shed  for  thee. 

m. 

But  none  shall  ever  mark  that  tear, 
For  none  can  rock  my  soul  to  sleep  ; 

Do  thou,  blest  shade,  but  hover  near, 
When  in  my  lonely  walks  I  weep 
My  life  away  for  thee. 


108  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

IV. 

That  life  no  hope  survives  to  cheer, 
Except  the  one  that  thou  art  blest, 

And  that  the  day  is  drawing  near 

When  mine  shall  with  thine  ashes  rest, 
My  spirit  wing  to.thee. 

v. 

Oh,  yes — though  doomed  so  sad  to  part, 
We  '11  meet  in  heaven's  eternal  day  ; 

For  thou  my  saving  angel  art, 
To  light  my  footsteps  in  the  way 

That  leads  to  GOD  and  thee. 
• 

VI. 

E'en  now  I  feel  thy  peaceful  sway  ; 

I  hear  thy  voice,  I  see  thy  smile. 
Oh,  do  not  pass  like  dreams  away  ; 

Tarry,  my  love,  a  little  while  — 
I  come,  I  come  to  thee ! 

COLUMBUS,  GEORGIA. 


MONODY. 


MONODY. 

WRITTEN  AT  EVENING,  ON  THE  BANKS  OF  THE  CHATTAHOOOHEE. 

I. 

OFT  when  the  sun  along  the  west 

His  farewell  splendor  throws, 
Imparting  to  the  wounded  breast 

The  spirit  of  repose  — 
My  mind  reverts  to  former  themes, 

To  joys  of  other  days, 
When  love  illumined  all  my  dreams, 

And  hope  inspired  my  lays. 

n. 

I  would  not  for  the  world  bereave 

Fond  Memory  of  those  times, 
When  seated  here  at  summer  eve, 

I  poured  my  early  rhymes 
To  one  whose  smiles  and  tears  proclaimed 

The  triumph  of  my  art, 
And  plainly  told,  the  minstrel  reigned 

The  monarch  of  her  heart. 


110  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

III. 

Enriched  with  every  mental  grace, 

And  every  moral  worth, 
She  was  the  gem  of  her  bright  race, 

A  paragon  on  earth ; 
So  luminous  with  love  and  lore, 

So  little  dimmed  by  shade, 
Her  beauty  threw  a  light  before 

Her  footsteps  as  she  strayed. 

IV. 

But  all  the  loveliness  that  played 

Around  her  once,  hath  fled ; 
She  sleepeth  in  the  valley's  shade, 

A  dweller  with  the  dead ; 
And  I  am  here  with  ruined  mind, 

Left  lingering  on  the  strand, 
To  pour  my  music  to  the  wind, 

My  tears  upon  the  sand. 

V. 

I  grieve  to  think  she  hears  no  more 
The  songs  she  loved  so  well — 

That  all  the  strains  I  now  may  pour 
Of  evenings  in  the  dell, 


MONODY.  Ill 

Must  fall  as  silently  to  her, 

As  evening's  mild  decline  — 
Unheeded  as  the  dewy  tear 

That  Nature  weeps  with  mine. 

VI. 

Oh,  if  thou  canst  thy  slumbers  break, 

My  dear  departed  one, 
Now  at  thy  minstrel's  call  awake, 

And  bless  his  evening  song — 
The  last,  perchance,  his  failing  art 

May  o'er  these  waters  send — 
The  last  before  his  breaking  heart 

Shall  songs  and  sorrows  end. 

VII. 

I  fain  would  let  thee  know,  blest  shade, 

Though  years  have  sadly  flown, 
My  love  with  time  has  not  decayed  — 

My  heart  is  still  thine  own  ; 
And  till  the  sun  of  life  shall  set, 

All  thine  it  must  remain, 
As  warmly  as  when  first  we  met, 

Until  we  meet  again. 


VERSE    MEMORIALS. 


VIII. 

If  I  have  sought  the  festal  hall, 

My  sorrows  to  beguile, 
Or  struck  my  harp  at  lady's  call, 

In  praise  of  beauty's  smile  — 
Oh,  still  thou  didst  my  thoughts  control 

Amid  the  smiling  throng  ; 
Thou  wort  the  idol  of  my  soul, 

The  spirit  of  my  song. 

IX. 

Take,  take  my  rhyme,  0  ladies  gay, 

For  you  it  freely  pours  ; 
The  minstrel's  heart  is  far  away — 

It  never  can  be  yours. 
The  music  of  my  song  may  be 

To  living  beauty  shed, 
But  all  the  love  that  warms  the  strain  — 

I  mean  it  for  the  dead. 

COLUMBUS,  GEORGIA. 


NO,  NO,  THE  HARP  I  DARE  NOT  WAKE.   113 


NO,  NO,  THE  HARP  I  DARE  NOT  WAKE, 

TO     MISS     GOOD,     MONTGOMERY,     ALABAMA. 
I. 

No,  no — the  harp  I  dare  not  wake, 

So  long  neglected  lain  ; 
My  heart,  my  heart  would  surely  break, 

To  hear  its  voice  again. 
The  tones  that  once  so  sweetly  threw 

Oblivion  o'er  my  cares, 
"Would  only  bring  to  memory's  view, 

The  woes  of  vanished  years. 

n. 

To  Love's  celestial,  higher  home, 

My  life's  enchanting  light, 
Hath  on  the  wings  of  morning  flown, 

And  left  my  soul  in  night ; 
Yet  sometimes  from  that  lovely  sphere, 

All  beautiful  and  blest, 
A  gentle  seraph  comes  to  cheer 

The  minstrel's  lonely  breast. 


114  VERSE     MEMORIALS. 

III. 

Oh,  while  that  seraph  dwelt  on  earth, 

It  was  her  smiles  alone, 
That  gave  my  lyre  its  wonted  mirth, 

And  sweetened  every  tone  ; 
From  her  my  inspiration  came, 

With  her  it  passed  away, 
And  how  can  I  resume  the  strain, 

Unkindled  by  her  ray  ? 

IV. 

Then  marvel  not  that  I  withhold 

The  boon  that  Beauty  claims  ; 
My  heart,  my  heart  is  dark  and  cold- 

Extinct  are  all  its  flames  ; 
And  well  I  know,  when  love  is  gone, 

And  grief  alone  remains, 
More  dreary  is  the  poet's  song, 

Than  winter  o'er  the  plains. 


Oil,     LET    MY    HARP,    LIKE    JUDAH'S    LYRE.       115 


OH,  LET   MY  HARP,  LIKE   JUDAH'S   LYRE. 

TO     MRS.     MARY     ANN     JETER,     COLUMBUS,     GEORGIA. 


OH,  let  my  harp,  like  Judah's  lyre, 

To  silence  be  consigned ; 
Each  sound  extorted  from  the  wire, 

Brings  madness  to  the  mind. 
It  wakes  a  train  of  painful  thought, 

Beyond  my  strength  to  bear — 
Reviving  scenes  with  misery  fraught, 

In  days  of  my  despair. 

II. 

I  may  not  breathe  her  name  adored, 

My  life's  lost  paragon, 
For  whom  my  early  strains  were  poured, 

Herself  the  soul  of  song. 
In  all  my  notes  she  bore  a  part — 

She  sang  them  o'er  and  o'er — 
Delighted  with  my  minstrel  art, 

But  with  the  minstrel  more. 


116  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

III. 

And  shall  that  harp — that  fav'rite  harp, 

She  lives  no  more  to  hear — 
Be  touched  to  win  another's  heart, 

To  please  another's  ear? 
No,  no — to  break  its  tranquil  sleep, 

Would  break  my  life's  repose  ; 
Its  voice  would  only  make  me  weep 

Afresh  o'er  former  woes. 

IV. 

Then  ask  me  not  my  hand  to  fling 

Across  the  wires  again  ; 
To  thee,  they  could  no  rapture  bring — 

To  me,  consuming  pain. 
Soon  may  they  wake  in  yonder  sphere, 

The  heavenly  choir  among, 
Responsive  to  the  voice  of  her, 

For  whom  they  first  were  strung. 


AND  MUST  I  TOUCH  THE  CHORDS  AGAIN?   117 


AND  MUST  I  TOUCH  THE  CHORDS  AGAIN  ? 

TO  A  LADY  OF  GALVESTON,  TEXAS. 


AND  must  I  touch  the  chords  again, 

At  Beauty's  high  behest  ? 
And  must  I  pour  a  formal  strain, 

Unechoed  from  the  breast  ?  — 
No,  lady,  no  —  I  will  not  wrong 

Exalted  charms  like  thine  ; 
I  will  not  pour  a  lifeless  song 

At  Beauty's  sacred  shrine. 

n. 

Oh,  how  couldst  thou,  of  soul  and  sense, 

Thy  deep-felt  scorn  conceal, 
For  him  who  sings  in  lady's  ear 

The  songs  he  does  not  feel  ?  — 
Whose  songs  at  best  would  only  shine 

Like  phosphor  of  the  tomb, 
Shedding  a  light  that  gives  no  heat, 

Yet  shows  surrounding  gloom  ! 


118  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 


III. 


And  if  his  cold,  unkindling  lay, 

Excite  thy  just  disdain, 
Oh,  how  much  more  thy  pride  would  spurn 

The  high,  impassioned  strain, 
If  thou  shouldst  know  that  all  the  light 

Around  the  numbers  thrown, 
Was  struck  from  recollected  love, 

And  beauty  not  thine  own  ! 


IV. 


Yet  such  were  mine — my  frozen  notes 

Would  fall  like  flakes  of  snow  ; 
Or,  if  the  memory  of  the  past 

Should  Avake  a  genial  glow, 
Still  all  unconscious  of  the  light 

Of  beauty  sparkling  near, 
My  soul  and  song  would  rise  to  one 

Who  gems  another  sphere. 


v. 

v 


I  know  I  shall,  on  some  blest  strand, 
Where  souls  of  goodness  throng — 

Some  Jordan  of  the  Spirit-Land, 
Whose  waters  roll  in  song— 


AND    MUST   I    TOUCH    THE    CHORDS   AGAIN?       119 


My  own  bright  seraph  meet  once  more. 

Renew  her  fav'rite  lay, 
And  all  my  soul's  devotion  pour 

Through  Love's  eternal  day. 


VI. 

Yet  now  with  me,  all  minstrel  fire 

Is  quenched  in  sorrow's  tears  ; 
And  though  the  lyre  I  still  retain, 

Its  spirit  dwells  with  hers  ; 
And  vain  it  were  to  touch  the  chords  — 

The  notes  would  sound  in  vain  ! 
For  where  would  be  her  smiles,  to  fling 

Enchantment  o'er  the  strain  ? 


Then,  lady,  ask  me  not  to  sing — 

A  bard  of  low  degree, 
Whose  songs,  if  warm,  would  not  be  thine, 

If  cold,  unworthy  thee. 
Some  happier  one,  of  higher  art, 

Should  strike  to  thee  the  strings, 
Whose  inspiration  is  his  theme  — 

The  beauty  that  he  sings. 


120  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

VIII. 

Or  dost  thou  love  the  minstrelsy 
With  which  Creation  teems  — 

The  lute-like  winds  —  the  vocal  grove — 
The  sweetly-sounding  streams  ? 

These,  these,  my  fair,  should  raise  to  thee 
Their  music  rich  and  wild, 

For  Nature's  voice  is  best  attuned 

• 

To  Nature's  fav'rite  child. 


OH,    DO     NOT    ASK     ME     NOW    FOR     RHYME.       121 


OH,  DO  NOT  ASK  ME  NOW  FOR  RHYME 

TO     MY     DAUGHTER,     REBECCA     ANN. 


OH,  do  not  ask  me  now  for  rhyme, 
For  I  am  lonely-hearted  ; 

And  lost  are  all  the  dear  delights 

The  Muses  once  imparted. 
I  sigh  no  more  for  Hybla's  dews, 

Nor  Helicon's  bright  water  ; 
I  only  crave  a  sable  wave 

Of  Lethe's  stream,  my  Daughter. 

n. 

And  wouldst  thou  share  thy  father's  woes, 

Partake  his  bitter  weeping  ? 
Then  seek  with  him  yon  valley's  shade, 

Where  beauty's  wreck  is  sleeping  ; 
For  in  that  dark  and  lonely  place  — 

Death's  solemn,  silent  quarter— 
Was  laid  the  pride  of  all  her  sex, 

The  mother  of  my  Daughter. 


122  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

III. 

She  was  all  bright  and  beautiful, 

A  floating  star  before  me, 
Whose  lustre  was  my  guiding  light, 

For  ever  shining  o'er  me  ; 
So  much  of  heaven  in  all  her  ways, 

How  often  have  I  thought  her 
Some  angel  sent  us  from  the  skies, 

To  bless  this  earth,  my  Daughter  ! 

IV. 

It  was  from  her  alone  I  drew 

My  minstrel  inspiration  ; 
But  when  she  died  and  left  me  here — 

My  soul  in  desolation  — 
I  broke  the  shell  she  loved  so  well, 

Destroyed  the  songs  I  wrought  her ; 
Nor  can  my  voice  again  rejoice 

In  cheerful  strains,  my  Daughter. 

v. 

Then  name  some  other  boon,  my  child  ;• 
Thou  know'st  I  can  deny  thee 

No  gift  thine  innocence  demands, 
While  thou  art  smiling  by  me : 


OH,  DO  NOT  ASK  ME  NOW  FOR  RHYME.   123 

But  should  I  dare  re-string  the  harp 

By  Chattahoochee's  water, 
The  bitter  tears  of  other  years 

Would  flow  afresh,  my  Daughter. 


0   LADY,    WHILE    A   NATION    POURS, 

TO     MRS.     ANN     S.     STEPHENS. 


0  LADY,  while  a  nation  pours 
Its  praises  in  thine  ear, 

0 

Wilt  thou  the  lay  that  Friendship  weaves, 
A  moment  deign  to  hear  ? 

1  bring  no  wreath  to  flatter  pride, 
No  gem  to  brighten  fame  ; 

My  only  gift's  a  grateful  heart, 
And  this  thou  well  mayst  claim. 

II. 

The  world  may  laud  thy  genius  rare — 

Its  triumphs  high  proclaim ; 
But  there  are  loftier  honors  still, 

Inwoven  with  thy  name. 
They  are  the  moral  gems,  that  form 

Thy  life's  enchanting  light — 
Uunsullied  truth — unwavering  love — 

And  fervor  for  the  right. 


126  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

III. 

The  cheering  smile — sustaining  word — 

The  ready  aid  at  call — 
The  active  love  that  wearies  not 

In  working  good  to  all :  — 
To  make  another's  wrong  thine  own, 

To  vindicate  the  poor, 
To  never  turn  uncomforted 

The  wretched  from  thy  door — 
% 

IV. 

These,  these  are  bright,  enduring  bays, 

That  with  thy  glories  blend ; 
And  while  they  win  the  world's  applause, 

Still  make  me  more  thy  friend. 
The  author's  fame  may  pass  away, 

The  woman's  can  not  die — 
The  flash  of  genius  is  of  earth, 

But  love  is  from  the  sky. 

v. 

Oh,  could  I  snatch,  Prometheus-like, 
From  Love's  celestial  throne, 

The  fire  of  life — to  give  my  lyre 
The  spirit  of  thine  own — 


LADY,    WHILE    A    NATION    TOURS.  127 

How  sweet,  in  Friendship's  sacred  name, 

A  wreath  of  song  to  twine, 
Whose  kindred  fragrance  might  embalm 

My  name  and  fame  with  thine  ! 

« 

VI. 

What  though  my  lyre  may  only  breathe 

Affection's  simple  tone  ; 
What  though  no  robes  of  starry  light 

Are  round  its  numbers  thrown — 

» 

Yet  ever  welcome  to  the  good 

The  artless  song  must  prove, 
That  pours  the  heart-felt  homage  due 

To  genius,  truth,  and  love. 

NEW  YORK,  April,  1857. 


128  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 


THE    SEASONS. 

INSCRIBED    TO    MY    NIECE, 
MRS.     SUSAN     WIGGINS,     MACON,     GEORGIA. 

I. 

THE  Spirit  of  Spring,  from  the  regions  of  light, 
Brought  music,  and  odor,  and  all  that  was  bright ; 
But  vain  were  the  blessings  —  they  shed  no  delight 
On  the  heart  that  lay  locked  in  a  Lapland  night. 

n. 

The  Spirit  of  Summer  then  came  with  a  glow, 
And  warmth  on  the  beauties  of  Spring  did  bestow ; 
But  all  of  the  sunshine  ne'er  melted  the  snow 
That  fell  on  the  heart  in  the  Winter  of  wo. 

m. 

The  Spirit  of  Autumn  now  chills  with  its  wing 
The  blushes  of   Summer  and  beauties  of  Spring ; 
But  light  is  the  mischief  its  breezes  may  fling, 
Compared  to  the  ruin  that  sorrow  can  bring. 

IV. 

The  Spirit  of  Winter  will  come  very  soon, 

On  the  wings  of  a  cloud  that  shall  darken  the  noou, 

More  welcome  to  me  than  perennial  bloom, 

For  the  frown  of  the  storm  is  the  type  of  my  gloom. 


THERE  IS  A  MAID  I  DEARLY  LOVE.    129 


THERE  IS  A  MAID  I  DEARLY  LOVE 


TO     MY     COUSIN     A  X  X. 


THERE  is  a  maid  I  dearly  love, 

A  fascinating  girl, 
As  modest  as  the  lily  white, 

And  beautiful  as  pearl. 
I  long  have  been  her  worshipper, 

And  evermore  must  be  ; 
Yet  colder  far  than  Zembla's  snows 

That  maiden  is  to  me. 

n. 

From  early  youth  to  womanhood 
I  'vc  seen  her  charms  expand, 

And  fondly  hoped,  some  happy  day, 
To  win  her  heart  and  hand  ; 

But  oh,  the  bud  that  was  so  sweet, 
And  long  my  secret  pride, 

Has  only  blushed  into  the  rose, 

To  be  another's  bride. 
9 


130  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

III. 

She  soon  will  wear  a  garland  bright. 

A  wreath  upon  her  brow, 
And  will  before  the  altar  stand, 

To  breathe  the  bridal  vow. 
I  know  she  will  not  think  of  me, 

Nor  heed  the  grief  she  makes  ; 
Yet  warmer  than  the  heart  she  weds, 

Will  be  the  heart  she  breaks. 

IV. 

0  Cousin  ANNA,  wouldst  thou  know 

Who  may  this  maiden  be?  — 
Then  to  thy  mirror  turn,  sweet  girl,. 

And  there  her  beauties  see  ; 
For  thou  art  she,  that  cruel  one, 

The  source  of  my  distress— 
Yet  all  too  beautiful  for  me 

To  ever  love  thee  less. 


THE     STAR    AND     CUP.  131 


THE    STAR   AND    CUP. 

INSCRIBED 
TO     MY     SISTER,     MRS.     MARY     ANN     M  O  R  E  L  A  N  D,     TEXAS. 

THE  second  of  March  —  the  anniversary  of  the  Declaration  of  the  Inde 
pendence  of  TEXAS  —  was  on  one  occasion  celebrated  in  a  grove  in  Wash 
ington  county,  and  the  rigid  exclusion  of  wine  made  a  special  feature  of  the 
rural  banquet.  The  cup  which  circulated  on  that  day  under  our  "  Single 
Star"  was  filled  with  the  pure  crystal  of  the  spring.  Hence  the  following 
lines  and  their  title. 

I. 

I  LOVE  the  bright,  Lone  Star,  that  gems 

The  banner  of  the  brave  ; 
I  love  the  light  that  guideth  men 

To  freedom  or  the  grave  ; 
But  oh,  there  is  a  fairer  Star, 

Of  pure  and  holy  ray, 
That  lights  to  glory's  higher  crown, 

And  freedom's  brighter  day:  — 
It  is  the  Star  before  whose  beams 

All  earth  should  bow  the  knee  — 
The  Star  that  rose  o'er  Bethlehem, 

And  set  on  Calvary. 


132  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

II. 

Let  others  round  the  festive  board 

The  madd'ning  wine-cup  drain  ; 
Let  others  court  its  guilty  joys, 

And  reap  repentant  pain  ; 
But  oh,  there  is  a  brighter  Cup, 

And  be  its  raptures  mine, 
Whose  fragrance  is  the  breath  of  life- 

Whose  spirit  is  divine :  — 
It  is  the  Cup  that  JESUS  filled — 

He  kissed  its  sacred  brim, 
And  left  the  world  to  do  the  same, 

In  memory  of  him. 


OH,    I    HAVE    WEPT    O'ER    BEAUTY'S    DOOM.       133 


OH,  I  HAVE  WEPT  O'ER  BEAUTY'S   DOOM. 

TO     MISS     BETTIE     MORSEL  L,     WASHINGTON     CITY. 


OH,  I  have  wept  o'er  Beauty's  doom, 

So  very  loud  and  long, 
I  did  not  think  my  heart  again 

Could  wake  to  love  and  song  ; 
Yet,  lady  fair,  thy  notes  this  night 

Have  lightened  my  distress, 
And  made  me  feel  that  woman's  voice 

Has  still  the  power  to  bless. 

II. 

When  first  upon  my  spirit  fell 

Thy  soft,  enchanting  tone, 
It  seemed  to  be  direct  from  heaven, 

And  meant  for  me  alone  ; 
For  oh,  I  thought  it  was  the  voice 

That  charmed  me  long  ago  — 
And,  in  the  dear  delusion  lost, 

My  tears  began  to  flow. 


134  VERSE     MEMORIALS. 

III. 

Forgive,  forgive  this  dewy  proof 

Of  thy  o'erpowering  art ; 
For  where  's  the  melody  but  thine 

To  melt  so  cold  a  heart  ?  — 
A  heart  that  has  not  dared  to  smile, 

Nor  felt  one  throb  of  love, 
Since  she  who  was  my  Rose  below, 

Became  a  Star  above. 

IV. 

O'er  loved  Laredo's  blooming  plains 

I  soon  shall  wander  free, 
And  I  shall  hear  the  Bravo  roll 

In  music  to  the  sea  ; 
But  where,  oh  where  will  be  thy  songs  ?• 

My  soul  will  pine  in  vain, 
To  drink  once  more  their  golden  light, 

And  happy  be  again. 

v. 

Adieu,  adieu,  thou  tuneful  one!  — 

My  gratitude  I  owe 
To  her  who  touched  my  frozen  heart, 

And  made  its  fountains  flow. 


OH,    I    HAVE    WEPT    O'ER    BEAUTY'S    DOOM.       135 

Where'er  she  wanders  through  this  world, 

May  blessings  ever  throng 
Around  the  bright  and  beautiful 

Embodiment  of  song ! 


136  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 


OCTAYIA. 

TO     MISS     WALTON,     NOW     MADAME     L  A  V  E  R  T,     MOBILE. 

I. 

WHEN  first  to  town  OCTAYIA  came, 

All  eyes  were  pleased,  all  hearts  were  flame  ; 

Aside  the  students'  books  were  laid, 

And  every  bard  a  rhyme  essayed. 

Our  native  girls  no  longer  prized, 

Their  wit  forgot,  their  worth  despised  — 

All,  all  gave  place  to  that  bright  Star, 

Who  touched  so  well  the  Light  Guitar. 

II. 

Oh,  let  them  to  that  fair  one  bow, 

And  chaplets  weave  to  grace  her  brow — 

My  native  maids  I  still  admire, 

To  them  alone  I  tune  my  lyre  ; 

Nor  in  my  heart  shall  they  give  place 

To  higher  birth  or  richer  race  — 

Not  e'en  to  thee,  thou  shining  Star. 

Who  touch'st  so  well  the  Light  Guitar. 

MlLLEDGEVILLE,    GEORGIA. 


SUNSET    SKIES.  137 


SUNSET    SKIES. 

INSCRIBED    TO    MY    SISTER, 
MRS.     LORETTO     CIIAPPELL,     MA  CON,     GEORGIA. 

I. 

THE  sunset  skies — the  sunset  skies! 

Their  splendor,  LORD,  is  thine  ; 
Those  golden  hues  —  those  Tyrian  dyes  — 

And  all  yon  glow  divine, 
Are  shadows  of  a  regal  gem — 
Dim  flashings  of  GOD'S  diadem. 


n. 

0  radiant  West — 0  radiant  West ! 

Thou  seem'st,  to  Fancy's  eye, 
A  lovely  land  —  a  home  of  rest — 

Bright  realm  'twixt  earth  and  sky, 
Where  kindred  spirits  sing  and  soar, 
And  meet  again  to  part  no  more. 


138  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

III. 

Perchance  to  heaven  so  near  they  dwell, 

They  hear  the  seraphim  ; 
Perchance  their  own  glad  voices  swell, 

Responsive  to  their  hymn  ; 
Oh,  when  shall  I,  in  that  blest  land, 
Unite  me  with  that  choral  band  ? 

IV. 

While  gazing  on  the  splendid  scene, 

I  sometimes  think  I  see 
My  long-lost  friends,  with  smile  serene, 

Waving  their  hands  for  me  — 
As  if  they  fain,  from  earthly  woes, 
Would  call  me  to  their  own  repose. 

v. 

Ye  clouds,  so  beautiful  and  bright, 

Floating  in  rich  array, 
Oh,  bear  me  on  your  pinions  light 

From  this  dull  world  away  — 
I  heed  not  whither — anywhere, 
If  truth  abide,  and  friends  are  there. 


THEY  SAY  THOU. ART  AN  ANGEL  BRIGHT.   139 


THEY  SAY  THOU  ART  AN  ANGEL  BRIGHT. 

TO     MISS     MARTHA     CLARK. 
I. 

THEY  say  thou  art  an  angel  bright, 

A  seraph  from  on  high  ;  — 
Alas  !    I  may  not  censure  those 

Who  breathe  the  pleasing  lie  ; 
For  lo  !    thou  art  so  beautiful, 

So  fraught  with  every  grace, 
They  well  might  make  the  sweet  mistake, 

While  gazing  on  thy  face. 

n. 

And  yet,  despite  thy  heavenly  charms, 

No  angel  thou  in  truth  ; 
For  how  can  she  an  angel  be, 

Who  murders  without  ruth  ? 
And  dost  thou  ask  me  for  the  proof?  — 

Behold  it  in  my  woes  — 
Hast  thou  not  stabbed  me  with  thine  eye, 

And  murdered  my  repose  ? 


140  VERSE     MEMORIALS. 

III. 

Then  do  not  deem  thyself,  fair  maid, 

A  creature  from  the  skies, 
Because  the  light  of  those  blest  spheres 

Is  sparkling  in  thine  eyes  ; 
But  if  thou  wouldst  the  being  be 

Thou  seemest  unto  the  sight, 
Then  soothe  the  pangs  thy  charms  have  wrought. 

And  be  an  angel  quite. 


ISABEL.  141 


ISABEL. 

MEXICAN     GIRL  —  M  ATA  MORAS. 
I. 

MY  ISABEL — dear  ISABEL! 

Oh,  take  the  flowers  I  send  thee  ; 
And  with  the  gift,  the  donor's  prayers, 

All  blessings  to  attend  thee. 
With  health,  and  wealth,  and  lengthened  life, 

And  many  friends  around  thee, 
Oh,  be  this  world  a  world  of  flowers, 

Without  a  thorn  to  wound  thee. 

II. 

Sweet  girl,  these  flowers  are  like  thyself, 

Thy  native  vales  adorning, 
In  all  the  lovely  lights  arrayed 

Of  Iris  and  the  morning ; 
But  brighter  far  than  any  rose, 

That  blooms  by  Bravo's  water, 
Is  that  which  decks  thy  father's  hall  — 

Don  LOPEZ'  smiling  daughter. 


142  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

III. 

Too  oft,  alas  !    unfeeling  man 

Is  viper  in  the  roses — 

i 
And  many  a  tear  the  maid  may  shed, 

Who  on  his  faith  reposes  ; 
But  wo  betide  the  ruthless  one, 

By  earth  and  Heaven  rejected, 
"Who  woos  and  wins  so  sweet  a  flower, 

To  leave  its  bloom  neglected  ! 

IV. 

Full  soon  the  bright  bouquet  will  fade, 

For  beauty  hath  a  fleetness  ; 
But  when  the  flowers  have  lost  their  hues, 

They  still  retain  their  sweetness :  — 
So  will  it  be,  dear  maid,  with  thee, 

And  all  the  gentle-hearted — 
The  power  to  please  will  linger  still, 

When  beauty  hath  departed. 

v. 

Oh,  by-and-by,  when  I  am  old, 

And  thou  in  all  thy  glory, 
Some  gayer  bard  will  sing  to  thee 

His  love-inspiring  story  ; 


ISABEL.  143 


And  should  he  be,  as  I  have  been, 
Still  true  to  love  and  duty, 

Then  be  the  minstrel's  high  reward 
The  hand  and  heart  of  beauty. 


144  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 


NAY,  TELL  ME  NOT  THAT  WOMAN  LOVES. 

TO     MISS     LAURA     THOMPSON. 


NAY,  tell  me  not  that  woman  loves, 

Because  her  bosom  heaves  the  sigh ; 
And,  tell  me  not  that  pity  moves, 
Because  she  hath  a  tearful  eye  ; 
How  easy  'tis  to  seem  to  feel, 
How  easy  for  the  tear  to  steal ! 
Oh,  Affectation's  practised  part 
Makes  Nature  seem  less  true  than  Art. 

ii. 

Each  tale  of  unrequited  love, 

My  feeling  LAURA  weeps  to  read  ; 
No  flower  that  withers  in  the  grove, 

But  makes  her  gentle  bosom  bleed  ; 
Yet  while  she  mourns  the  faded  rose, 
And  gives  her  tears  to  fictious  woes, 
She  still  derides  my  real  distress, 
And  still  withholds  her  power  to  bless. 


CARMELITA.  145 


CARMELITA. 

MONTEREY,      MEXICO. 
I. 

0  CARMELITA,  know  ye  not 

For  whom  all  hearts  are  pining? 
And  know  ye  not,  in  Beauty's  sky, 

The  brightest  planet  shining  ?  — 
Then  learn  it  now — for  thou  art  she, 
Thy  nation's  jewel,  born  to  be 
By  all  beloved,  but  most  by  me — 
0  Donna  CAEMELITA  ! 

II. 

But  wo  is  me  thy  love  to  lose, 

Apart  from  thee  abiding ; 
Between  us  roars  a  gloomy  stream, 

Our  destiny  dividing. 
That  stream  with  blood  incarnadined, 
Flows  from  thy  nation's  erring  mind, 
And  rolls  with  ruin  to  thy  kind, 

0  Donna  CARMELITA. 
10 


VERSE     MEMORIALS. 


III. 

'Tis  mine,  while  floating  on  the  tide, 

To  stick  to  love  and  duty  ; 
I  draw  my  sabre  on  the  foe, 

I  strike  my  harp  to  beauty  ; 
And  who  shall  say  the  soldier  's  wrong, 
Who,  while  he  battles  with  the  strong, 
Still  softens  war  with  gentle  song, 
0  Donna  CARMELITA  ? 

IV. 

I  soon  shall  seek  the  battle-field, 

Where  Freedom's  flag  is  waving — 
My  Texas  comrades  by  my  side, 

All  perils  madly  braving ; 
I  only  grieve  to  think  each  blow, 
That  vengeance  bids  the  steel  bestow, 
Must  make  thee  mine  eternal  foe, 
0  Donna  CARMELITA. 

v. 

Full  well  I  know  thy  pride  will  spurn 
The  brightest  wreaths  I  bring  thee  ; 

Full  well  I  know  thou  wilt  not  heed 
The  sweetest  songs  I  sing  thee  ; 


CARMELITA.  147 


Yet,  all  despite  thy  scorn  and  hate, 
Despite  the  thousand  ills  of  fate, 
I  still  my  soul  must  dedicate  — 
To  Donna  CARMELITA. 

VI. 

Then  fare  thee  well,  dear,  lovely  one- 

May  happiness  attend  thee  ; 
Ten  thousand  harps  exalt  thy  name, 

Ten  thousand  swords  defend  thee  :  - 
And  when  the  sod  is  on  my  breast, 
My  harp  and  sabre  both  at  rest, 
May  thee  and  thine  be  greatly  blest, 
0  Donna  CARMELITA  ! 


148  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 


TELL   ME,   BOOK-WORM,  STUDIOUS   SAGE. 

I. 

TELL  me,  book-worm,  studious  sage, 

Who  nightly  pore  o'er  Learning's  page, 

Wouldst  thou  the  realms  of  Thought  explore, 

And  add  new  wealth  to  Wisdom's  lore  ?  — 

Then  fly,  for  ever  fly  the  sheen 

Of  Richmond's  bright  and  beauteous  queen  ; 

For  on  her  glories  shouldst  thou  gaze, 

Adieu,  adieu  to  Learning's  maze  ; 

Her  face  wrill  be  thy  only  book  — 

Thine  only  study  her  fair  look. 

II. 

Say,  warrior  clad  in  armor  bright, 
Shield  of  thine  own  and  country's  right, 
Wouldst  thou  fair  Freedom  still  maintain, 
And  scorn  to  wear  the  conqueror's  chain  ?  - 
Then  fly  in  time — for  ever  fly, 
The  lightning  of  that  regal  eye  ; 
For  triple  mail  nor  polished  lance 
Can  aught  avail  against  its  glance  ; 
And  all  who  dare  one  flash  to  brave. 
Must  fall  her  captive  and  her  slave. 


MUSINGS.  149 


MUSINGS. 

INSCRIBED    TO    MY    SISTER, 
MRS.     LOUISA     M'GEHEE,     S  U  M  M  E  R  F  I  E  L  D,     ALABAMA. 


THIS  morn  the  sun  rose  bright  and  clear, 

And  seemed  in  gladness  shining ; 
Deep  in  the  west  'twill  soon  appear, 

With  all  its  beams  declining. 
Thus  sanguine  men  the  world  begin, 

With  prospects  bright  before  them  ; 
As  life  speeds  on,  the  light  grows  dim, 

And  darkness  soon  comes  o'er  them. 

n. 

Oh,  who  in  manhood  ever  found 

The  joy  his  youth  expected  ? 
And  who  o'er  dark  affliction's  wound, 

Has  never  wept  dejected  ? 
Oft  are  we  soonest  called  to  sigh 

O'er  things  we  hold  the  dearest ; 
And  oft  when  bliss  seems  smiling  by, 

The  spoiler's  hand  is  nearest. 


150  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

III. 

The  fairest  hopes  of  virtue  born, 

But  leave  the  heart  to  languish  ; 
We  seize  the  flower  and  feel  the  thorn— 

All  earth  is  doomed  to  anguish. 
If  transient  joys  are  sometimes  caught 

From  fortune,  fame,  or  beauty, 
Dark  Vengeance  comes  in  after-thought, 

And  points  at  murdered  Duty. 

IV. 

With  me,  the  flowers  of  hope  are  dead, 

My  path  no  more  adorning  ; 
As  transient  was  the  light  they  shed, 

As  dewdrops  in  the  morning. 
Bereft  of  all  that  might  elate, 

Of  all  that  once  was  shining, 
Oh,  let  me  meet  the  ills  of  fate, 

And  bow  without  repining. 

v. 

And  was  it  for  this  lowly  lot 
The  lamp  of  life  was  lighted— 

To  sigh  for  joys  and  find  them  not, 
And  then  go  down  benighted  — 


MUSINGS.  151 


Down  to  the  dust  without  a  tear, 

Unheeded,  unregarded, 
And  e'en  by  Him  who  placed  us  here 

Unpitied  and  discarded  ? — 

VI. 

No,  no  —  beyond  the  Morning  Star 

A  brighter  world  is  beaming  ; 
We  hail  the  day-spring  from  afar  — 

The  dawning  light  is  streaming ! 
There  will  the  weary  find  repose, 

The  peace  that  earth  has  blighted  ; 
Eternal  bliss  will  crown  their  woes, 

And  all  their  wrongs  be  righted. 

VII. 

Then  thither  let  us  wend  our  way, 

Our  lives  no  longer  wasting 
On  seeming  joys  that  fade  like  day, 

Or  turn  to  gall  in  tasting. 
We  all  may  win  that  land  of  love, 

Whate'er  on  earth  betide  us, 
If  we  but  watch  the  Star  above, 

That  GOD  hath  lit  to  guide  us. 

PUTXAM  COUNTY,  GEORGIA. 


152  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 


THE    COQUETTE. 

OH,  what  shall  be  the  fair  one's  doom, 

Who  seeks  a  vain  renown, 
By  luring  victims  with  her  smile, 

To  murder  with  her  frown?  — 
Oh,  she  shall  feel  what  she  inflicts, 

A  passion  unrepaid  ; 
Be  wooed  by  many — wed  by  none — 

Still  flattered  and  betrayed  ; 
And  when  her  triumphs  are  no  more  — 

When  all  her  charms  depart — 
Her  guilty  victories  will  coil 

Like  adders  round  the  heart. 


LOVE    AND    MARRIAGE.  153 


LOYE    AND    MARRIAGE. 

INSCRIBED     TO     FANNY     FERN. 
I. 

SAY,  have  you  seen  Aurora  rise, 

The  face  of  Nature  bright'ning. 
And  then  beheld  the  evening  skies 

Deformed  with  stormy  lightning  ?  — 
Oh,  Love  is  like  that  morning  ray, 
It  speaks  a  warm  and  cloudless  day  ; 
But  Marriage  is  the  evening  storm, 
That  breaks  the  promises  of  morn. 

ii. 

Say,  have  you  seen  an  early  flower 

Its  thousand  charms  displaying, 
An'd  then  beheld,  at  twilight  hour, 

Its  beauties  all  decaying  ?  — 
Oh,  Love  is  like  that  morning  rose, 
We  think  its  beauties  will  not  close  ; 
But  Marriage  is  the  twilight  dews, 
That  blights  its  freshness  and  its  hues. 


154  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

III. 

Say,  have  you  seen  wet-weather  streams, 

O'er  shining  rocks  careering, 
And  then  beheld,  at  Sol's  bright  beams, 

The  waters  disappearing  ?  — 
Oh,  Love  is  like  that  hasty  rill, 
Its  course  is  bright,  but  downward  still ; 
And  Marriage  is  the  noonday  beam, 
That  dries  the  fountain  of  the  stream. 

IV. 

Say,  have  you  seen,  at  summer  eve, 

A  calm  upon  the  ocean, 
And  then  beheld  the  tempest  heave 

The  waves  in  wild  commotion  ? — 
Oh,  Love  is  like  that  halcyon  sea, 
We  think  the  voyage  will  stormless  be ; 
But  Marriage  is  the  tempest  dark, 
That  wakes  the  waves,  and.,  wrecks  the  bark. 


OH,    TWINE    NO    LAUREL-WREATH    FOR    ME.       155 


OH,  TWINE  NO  LAUREL-WREATH  FOR  ME. 


INSCRIBED     TO     MRS.     SARAH     J.     HALE. 


OH,  twine  no  laurel-wreath  for  me, 

Nor  Mammon's  stores  impart ; 
I  ask  no  fame  but  woman's  smiles, 

No  treasure  but  her  heart. 
The  flash  of  glory  fades  like  day, 

And  riches  have  their  flight ; 
But  love — the  star  of  woman's  life — 

Knows  no  declining  light. 

II. 

Go  where  you  may — to  regions  drear, 

Where  icy  mountains  rise, 
Or  tread  Sahara's  burning  waste, 

O'er  which  the  siroc  flies — 
Still  woman's  love  and  loveliness 

Will  every  clime  relieve, 
And  ne'er  allow  man's  wayward  heart 

For  brighter  lands  to  grieve. 


156  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

III. 

What  though  along  the  realms  of  ice 

No  vernal  beauties  blow  ; 
What  though  along  the  burning  waste 

No  cooling  waters  flow — 
Amid  the  snows,  amid  the  sands, 

Her  smiles  will  still  impart 
A  spring-like  feeling  in  the  mind, 

A  fountain  in  the  heart. 

IV. 

0  Woman,  beautiful  and  bright, 
A  blessing  everywhere, 

1  want  the  skill  to  sing  thy  praise, 
My  gratitude  declare  ; 

Thou  art  indeed  the  poor  man's  friend, 
The  rich  man's  diadem — 

Through  weal  and  wo  my  shining  light, 
My  star  of  Bethlehem  ! 


r.T 


0    LADY,    IF    THE    STARS    SO    BRIGHT.          157 


0    LADY,    IF    THE    STARS    SO    BRIGHT. 

TO  MISS  HENRIETTA  MAFFITT,   GALVESTOX. 
I. 

0  LADY,  if  the  stars  so  bright 

Were  diamond  worlds  bequeathed  to  me, 

1  would  resign  them  all  this  night, 
To  frame  one  song  befitting  thee  ; 

For  thou  art  dearer  to  my  heart 

Than  all  the  gems  of  earth  and  sky ; 

And  he  who  sings  thee  as  thou  art, 
May  boast  a  song  that  can  not  die. 

n. 

But  how  shall  I  the  task  essay  ?  — 

Can  I  rejoin  the  tuneful  throng, 
Xo  longer  cheered  by  beauty's  ray, 

The  only  light  that  kindles  song  ? 
No,  no  —  my  harp  in  darkness  bound, 

Can  never  more  my  soul  beguile  ; 
Its  spirit  fled  when  HENRIE  frowned  — 

It  hath  no  voice  without  her  smile. 


158  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

III. 

Then  blame  me  not — my  skill  is  gone ; 

I  have  no  welcome  song  to  give  ; 
But  thou  shalt  be  my  fav'rite  one 

To  love  and  worship  while  I  live. 
Where'er  I  wander  sad  and  lone, 

I  will  thine  angel-image  bear 
Upon  my  heart,  as  on  a  stone, 

In  deathless  beauty  sculptured  there. 


GRIEVE    NOT    FOR    ME.  159 


GRIEVE    NOT    FOR   ME. 

INSCRIBED    TO    MY    SISTER, 
MRS.     AMELIA     HANDLE,     GEORGIA. 


THERE  is  a  sorrow  in  my  heart 

The  world  may  never  know — 
A  pang  that  never  will  depart, 

Till  Death  shall  lay  me  low ; 
Yet  light  and  cheerful  still  I  seem — 

No  signs  of  sorrow  see  ; 
I  wear  to  all  a  cheerful  mien, 

That  none  may  GRIEVE  FOR  ME. 

n. 

My  sufT rings  soon,  I  know,  must  end, 

For  life  is  on  its  ebb  ; 
The  autumn  leaves  that  first  descend 

Will  find  me  with  the  dead :  — 
I  wish  my  fall  may  be  like  theirs, 

From  lamentations  free  ; 
I  ask  no  unavailing  tears, 

No  friends  to  GRIEVE  FOR  ME. 


VERSE    MEMORIALS. 


III. 

Grieve  for  themselves,  that  they  are  left 

A  thorny  world  to  tread, 
But  not  for  him  who  goes  to  rest 

Among  the  quiet  dead  ; 
For  there  no  dreams  disturb  the  mind, 

Though  dark  the  mansion  be  ; 
And  if  in  faith  I  sink  resigned, 

Why  need  they  GRIEVE  FOR  ME  ? 

IV. 

Oh,  if  they  knew  my  soul's  unrest, 

The  agonies  I  bear — 
If  they  could  view  my  inmost  breast, 

And  see  the  vulture  there  — 
They  would  not  chain  me  to  my  woes, 

But  freely  let  me  flee, 
Nor  break  their  own  pure  hearts'  repose 

By   GRIEVING    AFTER   ME. 
V. 

Around  my  bed  no  brothers  bow, 

No  sisters  vigils  keep  ; 
No  mother  bathes-  my  aching  brow, 

Or  fans  me  while  I  sleep. 


GRIEVE    NOT    FOR    ME.  161 

Alas  !    I  would  not  have  them  near — 

Sad  would  their  presence  be  ; 
I  could  not  bear  their  plaints  to  hear, 

Or  see  them  GEIEVE  FOR  ME. 

VI. 

But  there  are  those  I  dearly  love, 

Whose  pilgrimage  is  o'er, 
Called  to  the  shining  realms  above, 

Where  sorrow  is  no  more. 
I  humbly  hope,  0  GOD,  to  find 

A  home  with  them  and  thee  ; 
And  strengthen  thou  each  suff'ring  mind 

That  vainly  GRIEVES  FOR  ME. 


11 


162  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 


WRITTEN    UNDER   A   PICTURE    OF    FLOWERS, 
PAINTED     BY      MY      SISTER     EVALINA. 

I. 

BEHOLD  the  painter's  mimic  powers ! 
The  pictured  seem  like  living  flowers  ; 
The  rose — it  wears  such  natural  red, 
We  think  it  freshly  from  the  bed. 

n. 

But  take  a  more  observant  view — 
Its  freshness  is  not  drunk  from  dew, 
No  sweetness  from  its  beauty  flows  ; 
'T  is  but  the  semblance  of  a  rose  ! 

m. 

While  thus  the  painter's  happy  skill 
Deceives  the  eye,  yet  pleases  still, 
We  may  this  homely  lesson  glean — 
Things  are  not  always  what  they  seem. 

FAIRFIELD,  PUTNAM  COUNTY,  GEORGIA. 


TO     MARY    ANN.  163 


TO   MARY   ANN. 


0  MARY,  when  we  parted  last, 

Beneath  our  fav'rite  tree, 
You  bade  me  watch  the  evening  star, 

And  strike  my  harp  to  thee. 
That  harp  is  not  what  once  it  was  — 

Confusion  o'er  it  reigns  ; 
The  chords  have  caught  my  own  despair, 

And  breathe  bewildered  strains  ; 
There  is  no  gladness  in  their  voice, 

They  shed  no  welcome  balm — 
They  only  deepen  my  lament 

For  thee,  my  MARY  ANN. 

n. 

Then  be  my  lyre  in  silence  laid, 
Till  brighter  days  shall  bloom  ; 

And  should  no  future  morning  break, 
Its  spirit  to  relume — 

Oh,  should  it  waft  no  more,  my  love, 
Its  wonted  strains  to  thee — 


164  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

Thou  must  not  deem  thyself  forgot, 

Or  less  beloved  by  me  ; 
But  let  its  tones  in  happier  days, 

When  first  our  love  began, 
Still  be  my  soul's  interpreter 

To  thee,  my  MARY  ANN. 

in. 

Long  have  I  been,  my  lovely  one, 

A  worshipper  of  thee  — 
Long  hast  thou  been  a  pure  and  bright 

Divinity  to  me  ; 
And  though  denied  by  Fortune  now 

To  bow  before  thy  shrine, 
My  heart  beats  on,  all  warmly  still — 

Its  every  pulse  is  thine  ; 
Nor  can  I  cease,  while  yet  remains 

Of  life  a  lingering  span, 
To  pour  my  daily  orisons 

For  thee,  my  MARY  ANN. 


IV. 

Why  should  I  change  ? — I  know  the  flowers 

Are  bright  in  Texan  dells, 
And  brighter  still  the  sparkling  eyes 

Of  Texas'  sprightly  belles  ; 


TO     MARY     ANN.  165 


Yet  in  this  land  of  light  and  love, 

All  beautiful  —  divine  — 
There  is  no  flower  or  living  thing 

Whose  charms  can  equal  thine  ; 
O'er  all  that 's  pure,  and  sweet,  and  bright, 

Thy  beauty  bears  the  palm  — 
Thou  art  the  rose  of  all  thy  race, 

My  blue-eyed  MARY  ANN. 

v. 

That  matchless  rose — that  matchless  rose! 

Though  blooming  far  away, 
Can  I  allow  its  loveliness 

In  memory  to  decay  ? 
No,  loved  one,  no  —  by  day  and  night 

My  thoughts  are  turned  on  thee, 
And  every  recollection  wrings 

A  silent  tear  from  me  :  — 
For  mine 's  a  love  that 's  full  of  grief, 

A  life-consuming  pang, 
That  will  not  let  me  cease  to  weep 

For  thee,  my  MARY  ANN. 

VI. 

My  home  is  in  the  battle-field — 
My  resting-place  the  grave  ; 


166  VERSE     MEMORIALS. 

Where  trampled  Freedom  shrieks  for  aid, 

There  must  my  banner  wave. 
The  hope  of  thy  approving  voice 

Will  still  my  soul  inflame — 
Will  pour  fresh  valor  in  the  heart 

And  light  me  on  to  fame  ; 
But  oh,  the  wreath  the  soldier  wins, 

In  danger's  stormy  van, 
Is  not  so  welcome  as  one  smile 

From  thee,  my  MARY  ANN. 

VII. 

Adieu,  adieu,  thou  cherished  one, 

Beloved  of  early  years, 
Whose  beauty  threw  a  rainbow  light 

O'er  all  my  cloud  of  cares. 
When  fortune  failed,  and  friends  fell  oif, 

And  foes  came  trooping  on, 
I  found  a  refuge  in  thy  smiles, 

A  solace  in  thy  song. 
Then  be  thy  life  prolonged  and  blest, 

Thy  death  serene  and  calm  ; 
We'll  meet  again — if  not  on  earth — 

In  heaven,  my  MARY  ANN. 

VELASCO,  TEXAS. 


THE    GIFT.  167 


THE    GIFT. 

TO     MISS     ELIZA     SPRINGER,     SPARTA,     GEORGIA. 

WHENE'ER  a  lover's  doomed  to  part 
With  her  who  has  transfixed  his  heart, 
A  custom — founded  long  ago  — 
Bids  him  some  little  gift  bestow  — 
Which  gift  the  fair  is  bound  to  take, 
If  only  for  politeness'  sake. 
Now,  as  the  time  is  drawing  nigh 
When  you,  sweet  girl,  will  say,  "  Good-by," 
And  in  the  lurch  your  lover  leave, 
With  sad,  desponding  heart  to  grieve  — 
He  fain  would  make  some  gift  to  you, 
As  pledge  of  love  for  ever  true. 
What  shall  it  be  —  a  diamond  ring?  — 
Ah  !    that,  you  know  's,  a  costly  thing, 
And  my  scant  coffers  may  not  bear 
To  purchase  gems  so  rich  and  rare. 
I  will  not  give  the  full-blown  rose, 
For  that  with  transient  beauty  glows, 


168  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 


And  you  might  say,  just  like  that  flower, 
My  love  would  wither  in  an  hour. 
Suppose  I  labor,  morn  and  eve, 
In  Fancy's  loom  a  lay  to  weave  — 
Ah  !    wouldst  thou  not  deride  each  line, 
Because  it  could  not  equal  thine  ?— 
No  ring — no  rose — no  rhyme — no  pelf- 
What  shall  I  give? — I'll  give  myself! 
Wilt  thou  accept? — the  gift  is  poor, 
But,  'pon  my  word,  I  've  nothing  more. 


GAY  SPRING  WITH  HER  BEAUTIFUL  FLOWERS.  160 


GAY  SPRING,  WITH  HER  BEAUTIFUL  FLOWERS. 

TO    FLORENCE    DUVAL    (SIX    YEARS    OLD),    AUSTIN,    TEXAS. 


GAY  Spring,  with  her  beautiful  flowers, 

Is  robing  the  valleys  and  hills  ; 
Sweet  music  is  heard  in  the  bowers, 

And  laughter  is  sent  from  the  rills. 
Oh,  let  me,  while  kindled  by  these, 

The  feelings  of  childhood  recall, 
And  frame  a  soft  sonnet  to  please 

The  fair  little  FLORENCE  DUVAL. 

n. 

The  rose  may  be  proud  of  its  red, 

The  lily  be  proud  of  its  white, 
And  sweet-scented  jessamines  shed 

Their  treasures  of  fragrant  delight ; 
Yet  brighter  and  sweeter  than  these, 

And  far  more  enchanting  to  all, 
Is  the  beautiful  pink  of  Bellemont, 

The  fair  little  FLORENCE  DUVAL. 


170  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

III. 

Her  locks  are  as  white  as  the  lint, 

Her  eyes  are  as  blue  as  the  sky  ; 
Her  cheeks  have  a  magical  tint — 

A  rainbow  which  never  should  die. 
Oh,  surely  there's  no  living  thing, 

That  dwelleth  in  cottage  or  hall, 
Can  vie  with  the  Peri  I  sing— 

The  fair  little  FLORENCE  DUVAL. 

IV. 

But  why  is  she  resting  from  play  — 

And  why  is  that  tear  in  her  eye  ? 
Alas  !    a  bright  bird  on  the  spray  ' 

Is  pouring  its  carols  hard  by  ; 
Her  spirit  is  drinking  the  song — 

She  weeps  at  the  notes  as  they  fall ; 
For  genius  and  feeling  belong 

To  fair  little  FLORENCE  DUVAL. 

v. 

Oh,  long  may  the  Peri  bloom  on, 
Still  ever  in  gladness  and  love,- 

And  blend  with  her  genius  for  song 
The  feelings  that  light  us  above. 


GAY  SPRING  WITH  HER  BEAUTIFUL  FLOWERS.    171 

That  life  may  be  lengthened  and  blest, 
And  sorrows  may  never  enthrall, 

Must  still  be  the  prayer  of  each  breast 
For  fair  little  FLORENCE  DUVAL. 

BELLEMONT  (NEAR  AUSTIN), 

RESIDENCE  OF  JUDGE  JAMES  WEBB. 


172  VERSE     MEMORIALS. 


ACROSTIC. 


SAY,  why  will  man  with  fellow-man  contend, 
And  kindle  passions  that  in  ruin  end  ? 
Reason  and  Nature  prompt  to  social  life, 
And  fly  the  cursed  concomitants  of  strife. 
Hail !    gentle  Solitude,  unknown  to  crimes, 
Retreat  of  Virtue  in  these  jarring  times  — 
Oh,  let  me  in  thy  peaceful  shades  abide, 
Secure  from  all  the  wars  of  power  and  pride  ; 
Some  nook  be  mine,  in  which  to  clear  a  field, 
Erect  a  cottage,  and  to  quiet  yield. 
There  could  I  dwell,  contented  and  confined, 
To  GOD  devoted  and  to  death  resigned  ; 
Enough  of  turbulence — I  mourn  its  woes  — 
Religious  Solitude,  I  court  thy  calm  repose. 

MlLLEDGEVILLE,    GEORGIA,    1825. 


ARM  FOR  THE  SOUTHERN  LAND.     173 


ARM    FOR   THE    SOUTHERN    LAND 

INSCRIBED    TO     MY     NEPHEW,     LUCIUS     M.     LAMAR. 
TUNE  —  "  Oft  in  the  stilly  night." 

I. 

ARM  for  the  Southern  land, 

All  fear  of  death  disdaining  ; 

Low  lay  the  tyrant  hand 

Our  sacred  rights  profaning  ! 

Each  hero  draws 

In  Freedom's  cause, 

And  meets  the  foe  with  bravery ; 

The  servile  race, 

And  tory  base, 

May  safety  seek  in  slavery. 

Chains  for  the  dastard  knave — 

Recreant  limbs  should  wear  them  ; 

But  blessings  on  the  brave 

Whose  valor  will  not  bear  them ! 


174  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 


II. 

Stand  by  your  injured  State, 

And  let  no  feuds  divide  you  ; 

On  tyrants  pour  your  hate,         . 

And  common  vengeance  guide  you. 

Our  foes  should  feel 

Proud  freemen's  steel, 

For  freemen's  rights  contending  ; 

Where'er-  they  die, 

There  let  them  lie, 

To  dust  in  scorn  descending. 

Thus  may  each  traitor  fall, 

Who  dare  as  foe  invade  us  ; 

Eternal  fame  to  all 

Who  shall  in  battle  aid  us  ! 


m. 

Proud  land !    shall  she  invoke 

Another's  hand  to  right  her?  — 

No! — her  own  avenging  stroke 

Shall  backward  roll  the  smiter. 

Ye  tyrant  band, 

With  ropes  of  sand, 

Go  bind  the  rushing  river ; 


ARM    FOR    THE    SOUTHERN    LAND.  175 

More  weak  and  vain 
Is  slavery's  chain, 
While  GOD  is  freedom's  giver. 
Then  welcome  to  the  day 
We  meet  the  proud  oppressor, 
For  GOD  will  be  our  stay — 
Our  right  hand  and  redressor. 
COLUMBUS,  GEORGIA,  1833. 


176  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 


ODE    TO   FISHING    CREEK. 


AN     ACROSTIC. 


SwEEt  stream,  although  them  glid'st  along 
Unknown  to  fame  and  classic  song, 
Still  on  thy  banks  I  oft  abide, 
As  glad  as  th'  swains  on  Levan's  tide  ; 
Not  that  thy  banks  are  gayly  green, 
Nor  that  thy  waves  are  silver  sheen  ; 
All  other  streams  might  boast  thy  bowers, 
Have  equal  flocks,  and  fields,  and  flowers, 
Their  cadenced  waves  as  sweetly  shine, 
Reflecting  light  as  pure  as  thine — 
Oh,  still  no  stream  so  dear  to  me  ; 
Some  fond  remembrance  dwells  with  thee — 
Some  pleasing  thought  of  fleeted  days, 
Enjoyed  upon  thy  banks  and  braes  :  — 
Thou  mind'st  me  of  my  much-loved  maid, 
The  times  we  've  loitered  in  thy  shade, 
Each  cheerful  word,  each  pleasing  smile, 
Replete  with  joy  and  free  from  guile. 


GIVE  TO  THE  POET  HIS  WELL-EARNED  PRAISE.    177 


GIVE  TO  THE  POET  HIS  WELL-EARNED  PRAISE. 

WRITTEN    OH    THE    PROSPECT    OF    BATTLE. 
INSCRIBED    TO    GENERAL   E.    B.    NICHOLS,    GALVESTON,    TEXAS. 

I. 

GIVE  to  the  poet  his  well-earned  praise, 

And  the  songs  of  his  love,  preserve  them  ; 
Encircle  his  brows  with  fadeless  bays, 

The  children  of  genius  deserve  them  ; 
But  never  to  me  such  praises  breathe, 

To  the  minstrel-feeling  a  stranger — 
I  only  sigh  for  the  laurel-wreath 

That  a  patriot  wins  in  DANGER. 

n. 

Speed,  speed  the  day  when  to  war  I  hie ! 

The  fame  of  the  field  is  inviting ; 
Before  my  sword  shall  the  foemen  fly, 

Or  fall  in  the  flash  of  its  lightning. 
Away  with  song,  and  away  with  charms !  — 

Insulted  Freedom's  proud  avenger, 
I  bear  no  love  but  the  love  of  arms, 

And  the  bride  that  I  woo  is  DANGER. 
12 


178  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

III. 

When  shall  I  meet  the  audacious  foe, 

Face  to  face  where  the  flags  are  flying  ?- 
I  long  to  thin  them,  "  two  at  a  blow," 

And  ride  o'er  the  dead  and  the  dying ! 
My  sorrel  steed  shall  his  fetlocks  stain 

In  the  brain  of  the  hostile  stranger  ;    . 
With  an  iron  heel  he  spurns  the  plain, 

And  he  breathes  full  and  free  in  DANGER. 


When  victory  brings  the  warrior  rest, 

Rich  the  rewards  of  martial  duty  — 
The  thanks  of  a  land  with  freedom  blest, 

And  the  smiles  of  its  high-born  beauty. 
Does  victory  fail?  — enough  for^ue, 

That  I  fall  not  to  fame  a  stranger ; 
His  name  shall  roll  with  eternity 

Who  finds  the  foremost  grave  in  DANGER. 


TO    A    VILLAGE    COQUETTE.  179 


TO   A   VILLAGE    COQUETTE, 

MONTICELLO,     GEORGIA. 

I 

I. 

FAIR  renegade  of  faith  and  love, 

Apostate  to  thy  TOW, 
The  ruin  of  my  earthly  hopes 

Is  written  on  thy  brow ! 
'Tis  vain  to  smile  —  I  trust  no  more 

The  light  that  leads  astray ; 
The  triumphs  of  thy  arts  are  o'er — 

Thou  canst  no  more  betray. 

« 

11. 

Among  the  gems  that  decked  thy  youth, 

To  me  a  heavenly  host, 
It  was  the  lovely  star  of  truth 

That  charmed  my  spirit  most ; 
But  when  that  star,  that  rose  so  fair, 

Went  down  in  Beauty's  sky, 
It  left  no  other  planet  there, 

For  me  to  wander  by. 


180  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

III. 

Yet,  lady  fair,  despite  my  wrong, 

I  will  not  now  upbraid  ; 
If  thou  hast  peace,  my  parting  song 

Shall  not  that  peace  invade. 
I  will  not  seek  thy  hopes  to  mar, 

Nor  break  thy  new-born  spell ; 
Thou  art  no  more  my  ruling  star, 

Yet  still  I  wish  thee  well. 

IV. 

The  ring  you  gave,  I  may  not  wear — 

'T  is  meet  that  I  restore 
The  gem  that  deepens  my  despair, 

And  makes  me  mourn  the  more  ; 
But  back  I  may  not  give  to  thee 

The  memory  of  the  past ; 
For  that  must  dwell  a  thorn  with  me 

While  life  itself  shall  last. 

v. 

The  bleeding  soldier,  feeling  yet 
The  arrow  near  his  heart, 

May  quite  forgive  —  but  not  forget— 
The  hand  that  sped  the  dart. 


TO    A    VILLAGE    COQUETTE.  181 

So  do  I  blend,  amid  ray  woes, 

Forgiveness  with  regret ; 
But  she  who  murdered  my  repose — 

Oh,  how  can  I  forget ! 

VI. 

While  yet  in  Jasper's  valleys  green 

Is  left  a  lingering  tree, 
To  mind  me  of  how  blest  I've  been, 

But  never  more  may  be — 
So  long  shall  I  thy  change  lament, 

And  weep  that  one  so  fair 
Should  doom  the  heart  that  loved  her  most 
To  darkness  and  despair. 


182  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 


LOVE. 

OH,  envy  not  the  happy  state 

Of  those  who  seem  with  joy  elate — 

For  all  things  are  not  what  they  seem, 

And  bliss  is  but  a  morning  dream  ; 

And  much  of  what  we  crave  below, 

If  ours,  might  work  us  endless  wo. — 

I  envied,  once,  a  happy  fly, 

That  glanced  along  LUCINDA'S  eye, 

And  lit  upon  her  velvet  lip. 

Oh,  then  said  I — "  Could  I  but  sip 

The  nectared  sweets  with  that  poor  fly, 

What  prince  on  earth  so  blest  as  I?"  — 

And  as  I  spake,  impelled  by  Fate, 

I  seized  upon  the  tempting  bait, 

And  stole  a  warm,  unbidden  kiss:  — 

But  ruin  lurked  amid  the  bliss  ; 

For  through  my  soul  and  through  my  frame 

There  shot  a  fierce  and  quenchless  flame — 

A  fire  that  never  is  at  rest, 

Unsleeping  ./Etna  of  the  breast, 

Consuming  all  my  joys  on  earth — 

0  Love,  thou  murderer  of  Mirth  ! 


ANNA    COWLES.  183 


ANNA    COWLES. 


I  WISH  I  could  revive  the  past, 

I  wish  I  could  recall 
The  happy  days  that  fled  so  fast  — 

The  most  beloved  of  all  — 
When  first  I  wandered  by  thy  side, 

Where  bright  Oconee  rolls, 
And  thou  went'st  forth  in  beauty's  pride, 

My  lovely  ANNA  COWLES. 

ii. 

Long  years  since  then  have  disappeared, 

In  shadows  overcast, 
Yet  deeply  in  my  heart  endeared, 

I  've  borne  thee  to  the  last. 
Of  all  the  gay,  enchanting  throng, 

Fond  Memory  sacred  holds, 
Thou  art  the  best-remembered  one, 

My  lovely  ANNA  COWLES. 


184  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 


III. 

The  light  of  other  days  I  see 

Still  beaming  on  thy  brow ; 
And  never  didst  thou  seem  to  me 

More  beautiful  than  now. 
Though  younger  belles  are  blooming  by  — 

Gay  girls  with  happy  souls  — 
With  thine  their  beauties  may  not  vie, 

My  lovely  ANNA  COWLES. 

IV. 

J  marvel  if  thy  heart  remains 

Unaltered  as  thy  face  ;  , 

I  marvel  if  it  still  retains 

For  me  a  kindly  place. 
Thou  needst  not  speak — that  cheerful  air 

The  welcome  truth  unfolds, 
That  time  has  wrought  no  changes  there, 

My  lovely  ANNA  COWLES. 

v. 

Then  wherefore  feel  myself  forlorn  — 
"Why  should  the  spirit  grieve, 

Since  the  same  star  that  lit  its  morn 
Returns  to  gem  its  eve  ? 


ANNA    COWLES.   *  185 


111  thee,  for  ever  pure  and  fair, 

The  minstrel  still  beholds 
His  morning  and  his  evening  star, 

My  lovely  ANNA  COWLES. 

VI. 

I  may  not  feel  as  once  I  felt, 

For  Passion's  reign  is  o'er  ; 
The  shrines  of  Beauty  where  I  knelt, 

Can  hear  my  vows  no  more  ; 
Yet  Friendship's  hallowed  flame  is  mine  — 

My  heart  it  still  controls, 
And  binds  me  on  to  thec  and  thine, 

My  lovely  ANNA  COWLES. 

VII. 

I  soon  shall  seek  my  home  afar — 

The  region  of  the  rose  — 
The  land  where  Freedom's  new-born  Star 

Its  glorious  lustre  throws  ; 
Yet  even  there,  where  all  is  bright, 

Amid  his  evening  strolls 
The  bard  will  miss  his  purer  light, 

My  lovely  ANNA  COWLES. 


186  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

VIII. 

Adieu,  adieu! — where'er  I  rove, 

One  bliss  will  still  attend  — 
That  she  who  was  mine  early  love, 

Will  be  my  latest  friend ; 
And  safely  anchored  in  thy  heart, 

No  storm  that  ever  rolls 
Can  wreck  my  spirit's  buoyant  bark, 

My  lovely  ANNA  COWLES. 


THE    MARRIAGE    DAY.  187 


THE    MARRIAGE   DAY. 

TO    MISS    MARTHA   KENNEDY, 
NOW     MRS.     DR.     MATHER,     N  E  \V     ORLEANS. 


COME,  MARTHA,  view  the  streamlet  sheen. 
That  glides  so  gayly  down  yon  green ; 
As  pass  its  waters  swiftly  by, 
So  doth  the  youthful  season  fly :  — 
Then  haste,  my  fair — no  more  delay  — 
And  fix  in  youth  the  MARRIAGE  DAY. 


ii. 

That  current's  source  may  never  fail — 

Long  will  its  waters  seek  the  vale  ; 

But,  lovely  one,  thou  must  not  deem 

Thy  youth  can  last  like  that  bright  stream , 

'T  were  best,  before  it  fleets  away, 

To  haste,  to  haste  the  MARRIAGE  DAY. 


188  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

III. 

Behold  the  field  with  roses  spread— 

Pass  some  brief  time,  and  all  are  dead. 

So  will  thy  beauties  shed,  fair  maid, 

A  transient  gleam,  and  sink  decayed; 

And  when  they're  gone — ah!   none  will  say, 

"  Come,  MAKTHA,  haste  the  MARRIAGE  DAY." 

IV. 

Full  soon  will  Spring,  with  genial  powers, 
Rebeautify  the  field  with  flowers  ; 
But  ah !   the  bloom  of  youth  once  o'er, 
No  Spring  its  glories  can  restore  ; — 
Then,  ere  they  fade  like  flowers  away, 
0  haste,  0  haste  the  MARRIAGE  DAY  ! 


THE   ROSE,   THE   MOON,   AND    NIGHTINGALE.       189 


THE  ROSE,  THE  MOON,  AXD  NIGHTINGALE. 

TO  THE  BELLE  OF  THE  BRAZOS,  RICHMOND,  TEXAS. 


MANY  a  flower  of  beauty  rare 
May  blossom  on  the  plain  ; 

But  none,  however  sweet  and  fair, 
Have  reason  to  be  vain — 

For  all  are  passed  neglected  by, 

When  Sharon's  Rose  is  blooming  nigh. 


II. 

Many  a  star  that  gems  the  night, 
In  seeming  gladness  glows, 

As  if  it  sought  to  match  the  light 
The  dazzling  diamond  throws  ; 

Yet  e'en  the  Evening  Star  declines 

Whene'er  the  Moon  in  glory  shines. 


190  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 


III. 

Many  a  bird  may  carol  loud, 

In  sadness  or  in  glee  ; 
But  none  have  reason  to  be  proud, 

Though  sweet  their  music  be— 
For  what  can  all  their  notes  avail, 
Compared  with  thine,  sweet  Nightingale  ? 

IV. 

As  reigns  the  Rose,  the  queen  of  flowers, 
The  Moon,  the  queen  of  night — 

As  Philomel's  melodious  powers 
Excel  in  rich  delight— 

So  reigns  my  fair  o'er  Virtue's  throng — 

The  queen  of  Beauty,  Light,  and  Song. 


THE    LILY,    STAR,    AND    PEACEFUL    DOVE.       191 


MY  LILY,  STAR,  AND  PEACEFUL  DOVE. 

TO     THE     PRIDE     OF     THE     VILLAGE,     RICHMOND,     TEXAS. 

I. 

THE  Rose,  in  gorgeous  dyes  arrayed, 

May  queen  it  on  the  throne  ; 
But  more  beloved,  in  yonder  shade, 

The  Lily  blooms  alone  ;  — 
For  who  can  hesitate  between 
Her  modest  worth  and  beauty's  sheen  ? 


n. 

The  Moon  may  dim  the  stars  above, 
"With  cold,  unkindling  light ; 

But  more  the  golden  beams  I  love 
Of  yonder  planet  bright— 

The  Star  that  shines  a  queenly  gem 

In  dewy  Evening's  diadem. 


192  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

III. 

The  Nightingale  may  strain  its  throat, 

Ambitious  songs  to  pour  ; 
But  there's  a  bird  of  mournful  note, 

Whose  pathos  pleases  more — 
The  bird  that  bore,  o'er  waters  dark, 
The  welcome  olive  to  the  ark. 

IV. 

Let  others,  then,  the  splendors  hail 

Of  Brazos'  shining  belle  ; 
The  Rose — the  Moon — the  Nightingale, 

May  suit  her  glories  well ; 
But  more  than  these,  by  far,  I  love 
My  Lily,  Star,  and  peaceful  Dove. 


NO    GIRL    CAN    WIN   MY    STUBBORN   BREAST.       193 


NO  GIRL  CAN  WIN  MY  STUBBORN  BREAST. 

TO    LAURA    DENT,    NANCY    MASON,    SARAH   GORDON,    MARTHA   FANNIN,  AND 
ELIZA   MOORE, 

ALL     OF     EATONTON,     GEORGIA. 
I. 

No  girl  can  win  my  stubborn  breast, 
Unless  with  every  beauty  blest 
That  e'er  in  lover's  fancy  glowed, 
Or  Nature  lavishly  bestowed 

On  LAURA. 

n. 

She  must  possess  an  active  mind, 

By  books  of  taste  improved,  refined  ; 

An  abstract  wit  of  easy  flow, 

That  wounds  no  friend  and  makes  no  foe, 

Like  NANCY'S. 

• 

m. 

Her  heart,  where  warm  affection  glows, 
And  social  goodness  overflows, 
Must  know  no  guile — have  no  deceit — 
But  with  the  truth  and  candor  beat 

Of  SARAH'S. 
13 


194  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

IV. 

To  win  the  love  of  one  like  this, 
I'd  never  pray  for  brighter  bliss; 
For  life  would  glide  as  free  from  wo 
As  those  dear  days,  spent  long  ago, 
With  MARTHA. 

v. 

But  where  shall  I  the  fair  one  find, 
In  whom  these  charms  are  all  combined  ? 
Oh,  such  an  one  I  know  there  be ; 
To  point  her  out,  I'd  turn  to  thee — 
ELIZA. 


NOURMAHAL.  195 


NOURMAHAL. 

WRIT  TEX      IN     A     BALLROOM,     M  I  L  L  E  D  G  E  V  I  L  L  E, 


WHILE  beauty  is  shedding  its  magical  light, 

And  music  and  merriment  mingle  their  power, 
To  chase  from  each  bosom  its  sorrowful  night  — 

Oh,  may  not  a  lover,  in  such  a  sweet  hour, 
The  charms  of  his  far-distant  beauty  forget, 

And  whisper  of  love  to  the  belles  that  are  by  ? 
No,  no  —  I  would  rather  my  spirit  should  set 

In  darkness  for  ever,  than  leap  to  the  eye 
Of  any  —  the  brightest — that  beam  in  this  ball  — 
The  light  of  my  bosom  is  fair  NOCRMAHAL. 

n. 

0  MARY,  if  beauty  and  sweetness  could  chase 
My  long-cherished  love,  and  a  new  one  supply, 

It  might  be  the  smile  of  thy  luminous  face  — 
It  might  be  the  glance  of  thy  soul-stirring  eye. 


196  TERSE    MEMORIALS. 

Like  a  Peri  from  heaven  you  float  in  the  dance, 
As  light  as  a  zephyr  from  orient  bowers  ; 

I  now  and  then  give  you  a  transient  glance, 

Just  such  as  I  'd  throw  upon  winter  wild-flowers ; 

For  never,  oh  never  thy  splendor  can  thrall 

The  bosom  that's  bound  to  my  fair  NOURMAHAL. 

in. 

Oh,  NOURMA  was  copied  from  angels  above, 

And  all  of  their  goodness  enlivens  her  breast; 
I  never  can  sigh  for  another  one's  love, 

So  long  as  with  hers  I  am  happily  blest. 
Oh,  wonder  not  then  that  I  join  not  in  mirth, 

Since  I  find  not  my  star  of  idolatry  here  ; 
The  purest  of  pleasures  that  brighten  this  earth, 

And  all  of  the  bliss  of  a  far  better  sphere, 
I'd  freely  relinquish  as  valueless  all, 
Unless  I  could  share  them  with,  fair  NOURMAHAL. 


THE    MAIDEN'S    REMONSTRANCE.  197 


THE    MAIDEN'S   REMONSTRANCE, 

MILLEDGEVILLE,     GEORGIA. 
I. 

THE  hand  you  have  so  often  pressed, 

You  vow  you  '11  ne'er  forsake  it, 
And  yet  you  have  no  wish  expressed 

In  wedlock's  right  to  take  it ;  — 
The  heart  you  have  so  warmly  wooed, 

You  vow  you  '11  ever  shield  it, 
And  yet  you  have  a  course  pursued 

That  must  to  sorrow  yield  it. 

it 

You  say  you  love  the  opening  rose— 

Ah !    dost  thou  know  its  fleetness  ? 
Then  why  not  pluck  it  while  it  blows, 

Before  it  lose  its  sweetness  ? 
You  say  you  love  me  as  your  life — 

Ah !    wouldst  thou  not  deceive  me  ? 
Then  why  not  take  me  for  your  wife, 

Ere  beauty's  light  shall  leave  me  ? 


198  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

III. 

Cease,  oh  cease  the  flatterer's  part. 

An  upright  mind  disdains  it ; 
Your  guile  may  win  a  maiden's  heart. 

But  truth  alone  retains  it. 
If  thou  hast  wooed,  but  not  to  wed. 

If  falsely  thou  hast  spoken, 
Oh,  leave  me  to  the  tears  I  shed  — 

My  heart,  my  heart  is  broken  ! 


TO    MRS.    ,    ON    HEARING   HER    SING.       199 


TO    MARION, 

• 

ON     HEARING     HER     SING. 


WHAT  heavenly  sounds  are  those  I  hear — 

From  what  blest  regions  brought  ? 
Some  angel  must  be  hovering  near, 

With  melody  o'erfraught. 
Sing  on  —  sing  on,  sweet  child  of  light, 

And  cheer  thy  listener's  heart ; 
More  welcome  are  thy  strains  to-night 

Than  JENNY'S  highest  art. 

n. 

There  is  a  brightness  in  thine  eye, 

A  pathos  in  thy  lay  — 
A  light  that  marks  thee  from  the  sky, 

And  not  of  human  clay. 
I  can  not  think  such  songs  of  love 

From  earthly  lips  can  flow  ; 
And  if  thou  wert  not  born  above, 

Thy  notes  are  surely  so. 


100  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

III. 

Blest  rival  of  the  tuneful  Nine, 

Enchantress  of  the  soul, 
As  sweet  to  other  hearts  as  mine- 

Long  may  thy  numbers  roll ; 

• 

And  I  thy  friend,  when  far  away, 
Will  bear  with  fond  delight 

The  memory  of  each  golden  lay, 
And  bless  the  minstrel  bright. 


THE    RULING    PASSION. 


201 


THE    RULING   PASSION. 

ALAS  !    in  all  the  human  race, 

We  may  some  ruling  passion  trace  — 

Some  monarch-feeling  of  the  breast, 

That  reigns  supreme  o'er  all  the  rest. 

With  some,  it  is  the  lore  of  fame — 

A  restless  and  disturbing  flame, 

Which  still  incites  to  deeds  sublime, 

Whether  of  virtue  or  of  crime. 

With  others,  'tis  the  lust  of  gold  — 

Sad  malady  of  rooted  hold, 

Which  closer  round  the  bosom  twines, 

As  virtue  dies  and  life  declines. 

With  many,  'tis  the  love  of  pleasure — 

A  madness  without  mete  or  measure, 

Which  never  faileth,  soon  or  late, 

To  plunge  its  votaries  in  the  fate 

Of  thoughtless  flies  in  comfits  caught — 

Dying  'mid  sweets  too  rashly  sought. 

But  woman,  always  good  and  bright, 

Great  Nature's  pride  and  earth's  delight, 


202  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

What  is  this  monarch  of  thy  soul — 

This  tyrant  of  supreme  control, 

That  tramples  with  despotic  force 

All  other  feelings  in  its  course  ?  — 

Thou  needst  not  speak — thou  needst  not  tell, 

For  all  who  know  thee  know  it  well :  — 

We  read  it  in  that  downcast  eye, 

We  learn  it  from  that  stifled  sigh, 

We  see  it  in  the  glowing  blush 

That  gives  thy  cheek  its  rosy  flush ; 

And  though  compelled,  by  shame  and  pride, 

Deep  in  thy  heart  its  sway  to  hide, 

Still  do  we  know  it  as  a  fire 

Which  only  can  with  life  expire — 

Sole  inspiration  of  thy  worth, 

And  source  of  all  that 's  good  on  earth. 

0  Love  !    all-conquering  and  divine, 

We  know  where  thou  hast  built  thy  shrine. 


ANACREONTIC.  203 


ANACREONTIC. 

TO  MI89  SARAH  GORDON,  EATONTON,  GEORGIA. 

You  'VE  pressed  me  oftentimes,  sweet  lass, 
To  sip  with  you  the  social  glass, 
Which  I  as  often  have  denied, 
And  coldly  put  the  wine  aside :  — 
But  now  produce  the  spacious  bowl, 
I'll  quaff  the  juice  with  generous  soul, 
Till  every  ill  be  merged  in  mirth, 
By  toasting  Beauty,  Wit,  and  Worth. 
One  glass  I'll  fill — to  her  whose  face 
Shall  beam  with  beauty's  richest  grace  ; 
One  glass  I'll  fill  —  to  her  whose  mind 
With  wit  and  taste  is  most  refined  ; 
One  glass  I'll  fill — to  her  whose  soul 
Is  freest  from  all  low  control ; 
One  glass  I'll  fill — to  her  I  prize 
My  warmest  friend  beneath  the  skies ; 
One  glass  I'll  fill— but  "Hold!"  you  cry, 
"  Such  numbers  bring  the  bloodshot  eye  : 


204  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 


To  drink  to  each  of  these  a  bumper, 
Sure  Bacchus'  self  could  not  get  drunker." 
Ah  !    lovely  girl,  for  your  sweet  sake, 
I  only  mean  ONE  glass  to  take  :  — 
That  single  glass,  when  drunk  to  you, 
Is  drunk  to  all  these  virtues  too  ; 
For  thou  art  Nature's  nonpareil, 
Who  dost  in  everything  excel — 
The  brightest  and  the  best  of  earth, 
Sweet  queen  of  Beauty,  Wit,  and  Worth ! 


BEHOLD    UPON    YON    BENDING    LIMB.          205 


BEHOLD    UPON   YON  BENDING   LIMB. 

TO    MISS    JULIA    HARRIS, 
THE     "MINSTREL     MAIDEN,"     MOBILE. 

I. 

BEHOLD  upon  yon  bending  limb 

The  bird  of  jest  and  jibe, 
And  hark  with  what  enchanting  skill 

It  mocks  the  warbling  tribe  ! 
Were  mine  the  art,  its  varied  notes 

To  bind  in  silver  words, 
I'd  frame  a  song  to  one  whose  own 

Is  sweeter  than  that  bird's. 

n. 

A  glowing  mind,  by  taste  refined, 

A  soul  sublimely  cast ; 
A  loveliness  that  wins  all  hearts, 

And  truth  that  holds  them  fast ;  — 
Oh,  these — sweet  minstrel  maiden — these 

My  pleasing  themes  should  be  ; 
And,  with  my  heart  in  every  line,     • 

The  son<r  should  flow  to  thee. 


206  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 


III. 

And  oh,  what  bard  so  blest  as  I, 

Howe'er  with  laurels  crowned, 
If  through  thy  pure  and  rosy  lips 

My  numbers  might  resound  ! 
The  song  approved  and  sung  by  thee, 

Were  more  than  golden  store  — 
A  rapture  for  my  living  years, 

And  fame  when  these  are  o'er. 


MARY     BELL.  207 


MARY    BELL. 

i. 

THERE  is  a  name  whose  tones  once  heard, 

Becomes  a  constant  spell ; 
A  musical  and  magic  word, 
By  which  all  gentle  hearts  are  stirred — 

That  name  is  MARY  BELL. 

n. 

The  sunlight  of  our  quiet  hearth, 

Which  knows  her  presence  well, 
Is  oft  enlivened  by  her  mirth  — 
And  ever  cherished  is  the  worth 
Of  lovely  MARY  BELL. 

in. 

Her  beauties  are  the  stars  above, 

Her  heart  a  living  well ; 
And  as  for  gentleness  and  love, 
Where  will  you  find  so  sweet  a  dove 

As  lovely  MARY  BELL  ? 


208  VERSE     MEMORIALS. 


IV. 


I  can  not,  in  this  little  lay, 

Her  many  virtues  tell ; 
But  this  I  know,  and  well  may  say, 
She  grows  upon  us  every  day  — 

The  lovely  MARY  BELL. 


TO    MRS.    CAROLINE    M.    SAWYER.  209 


TO    MRS.    CAROLINE    M.    SAWYER, 


OH  had  I,  dear  lady,  the  power 

To  fashion  thy  destiny  here, 
Thy  life  should  be  sunshine  and  blossoms, 

And  glory  should  crown  thy  career. 
No  cloud  should  e'er  darken  thy  heaven, 

No  sorrow  thy  spirit  depress, 
But  all  that  is  lovely  and  loving 

Should  gather  around  thee  to  bless. 

n. 

Of  roses  and  laurels  united, 

Combining  their  crimson  and  green, 

Should  Fame  a  rich  garland  entwine  thee, 
And  Piety  hallow  its  sheen. 

Already  such  garland  thou  wearest — 
How  pure  and  how  bright  are  its  rays  ! 

Its  lustre  is  caught  from  affection, 

Its  fragrance,  the  breath  of  thy  lays. 
14 


210  VERSE     MEMORIALS. 

III. 

0  beautiful  daughter  of  Morning, 

Were  mine  but  the  alchemist's  art, 
How  soon  should  this  world  be  transmuted 

To  all  that  could  gladden  thy  heart ! 
Fame,  Fortune,  and  Friendship — blest  trio  ! 

Like  spirits  should  come  at  my  call, 
And  crown  thee  a  queen  among  women — 

The  brilliant  Aurora  of  all. 

IV. 

Though  I  bid  thee  farewell  on  the  morrow, 

My  heart  is  not  severed  from  thee  ; 
For  the  light  of  thy  loveliness  still 

My  constant  companion  shall  be  ; 
And  purer  by  far  than  yon  planet, 

That  sparkles  so  bright  in  the  west, 
Thine  image  will  rise  every  evening, 

And  dwell  a  sweet  star  in  my  breast. 

NEW  YORK,  May  4,  1857. 


TO    MRS.    MARY    ROBERTS.  211 


TO    MRS.    MARY    ROBERTS. 


MOBILE. 


DEAR,  genial  friend,  enchanting  one  ! 

Though  parted  many  a  long,  long  year, 
Still  like  the  bright,  returning  sun, 

Thy  mem'ry  rises  calm  and  clear, 
And  calls  me  back  to  those  blest  days, 

When,  seated  by  your  social  hearth, 
I  drank  with  rapture  all  your  lays, 

And  mingled  in  your  children's  mirth. 


II. 


There's  LAURA  with  her  footsteps  light, 

Her  sparkling  eye  and  ringing  laugh  ; 
There's  WILLIS  with  his  flying  kite, 

And  EBER  on  his  grandpa's  staff. 
I  see  them  all  in  merry  mood, 

As  if  they  still  were  by  my  side  — 
A  noisy  crew — but  never  rude — 

Their  parents'  pleasure  and  their  pride. 


212  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

III. 

Fair  scions  of  a  generous  race  ! 

Their  high  inheritance  shall  be 
Their  father's  worth — their  mother's  grace- 

Instruction  pure,  and  spirit  free. 
How  sweet  to  see  their  virtues  blow, 

Like  buds  expanding  in  the  air, 
And  in  their  parents'  likeness  grow— 

The  sons  all  brave — the  daughters  fair!. 

IV. 

Oh,  blest  beyond  the  common  lot, 

Have  flown  my  years  since  last  we  met, 
With  every  trouble  long  forgot, 

And  scarce  a  boon  to  sigh  for  yet. 
Like  yon  declining  sun,  my  life 

Is  going  down  all  calm  and  mild, 
Illumined  by  an  angel-wife, 

And  sweetened  by  a  cherub-child. 

v. 

Yet  still  I  oft  recall  your  worth, 
And  oft  your  mirth  and  music  miss  ; 

Old  friendship  takes  a  second  birth, 
And  links  the  past  with  present  bliss. 


TO    MRS.     MARY    ROBERTS.  21, 

I  'm  happy,  too,  to  know  that  Time 
Is  strewing  still  thy  path  with  bloom, 

And  life's  best  fruit,  in  richer  prime, 
Swells  from  the  blossom's  brief  perfume. 

VI. 

I  could  not  think,  dear  friend,  to  close 

This  volume  of  memorial  lays, 
Xor  frame  one  song  to  her  who  glows 

So  brightly  in  departed  days. 
The  wreath  I  twine  can  bring  no  fame — 

Frail  garland  wove  with  little  art ; 
And  yet  it  may  this  merit  claim  — 

The  flowers  are  gathered  from  the  heart. 

NEW  YORK,  May  5,  1857. 


214  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 


TO    MISS    SOPHIA    ROBERTS. 

I  OWN  I  promised,  't  other  day, 

To  frame  for  thee  a  cheerful  lay  ; 

But,  lady  fair,  I  can't  comply  — 

Oh,  do  forgive  the  little  lie ! 

Some  other  boon  demand — you  know 

My  heart,  my  life,  my  all  may  go  ; 

But  when  you  bid  me  build  the  rhyme, 

You  only  urge  me  on  to  crime  ; 

For  once  I  penned  a  sprightly  lay, 

To  please  the  fair — but  missed  the  way  ; 

And  since  that  time,  I  've  often  swore, 

For  those  I    love,    I  'd  rhyme  no  more  ; 

Then,  lady,  urge  me  not  too  hard, 

Lest  I  become  a  perjured  bard. 


THE    BEAU'S    FAREAVELL.  215 


THE    BEAU'S   FAREWELL. 

i. 

WHEN  I  was  young — when  I  was  young, 

And  spun  my  harmless  rhymes, 
I  dashed  the  shining  dames  among, 

The  BRUMMELL  of  the  times  ; 
But  now,  alas  !    I  'in  growing  old, 

My  locks  are  turning  gray, 
And  by  the  fair  I'm  kindly  told 

'Tis  time  to  march  away. 

n. 

At  Fate  'tis  folly  to  repine — 

Our  fortunes  to  deplore  ; 
For  beaux,  like  kingdoms,  must  decline, 

To  reign  and  rule  no  more  ; 
Yet  who  the  tears  of  sad  regret 

Has  firmness  to  restrain, 
That  sees  his  star  of  glory  set, 

Never  to  rise  again  ? 


216  VERSE    MEMORIALS. 

* 

III. 

Adieu,  adieu,  ye  flowery  lays  — 

And,  ladies  fair,  good-night ; 
I  sing  no  more  in  beauty's  praise, 

Nor  bow  before  its  light. 
Tis  meet  that  I,  who've  had  my  day, 

To  younger  beaux  should  yield  :  — 
Ye  vet'rans  grown  unfit  for  fray, 

Why  linger  in  the  field  ? 


APPENDIX. 


THE  following  lines  were  written  by  Judge  THOMPSON,  formerly  of  South 
Carolina,  but  afterward  of  Texas.  He  fell  at  San  Antonio,  in  a  right  with 
the  Comanches.  The  stanzas  are  inserted  here  for  preservation. 

LINES 

WRITTEN'  ON  HEARING  OF  THE  DEATH  OF  MRS.  REBECCA  LAMAR,  OF 
GEORGIA,  THE  VENERABLE  MOTHER  OF  M.  B.  LAMAR  :  THE  DECEASED 
WAS  ON  A  VISIT  TO  HER  SON,  AND  DIED  OF  CONGESTIVE  FEVER. 

I. 

CHANGE  not  the  earth  of  the  olden  tree, 

When  its  leaves  are  dim  and  dry  ; 
For  in  the  wood,  where  it  long  hath  stood, 

Tis  fitter  it  should  die. 

n. 

When  last  I  saw  the  one  we  weep, 

Whose  spirit  now  is  fled  — 
Bending  with  years  o'er  him  whose  tears 

Have  fallen  on  the  dead  — 
I  little  thought  that  Death  so  soqn 

Would  solace  all  her  woes, 
And  lay  her  aged  lineaments 

In  silence  and  repose. 


218  APPENDIX. 


III. 

'Tis  wrong  to  touch  the  sod  that  clings 

Around  the  ancient  oak, 
Which  long  hath  trembled  in  the  storm, 

And  braved  the  lightning-stroke  ; 
Its  wasted  limbs  can  never  bear 

A  stranger  clime  or  sky, 
And  on  the  earth  where  it  had  birth 

It  soon  enough  will  lie. 

IV. 

Sleeper  in  death,  sweet  be  thy  rest!  — 

Life's  anxious  cares  are  o'er ; 
And  't  was  thy  doom  to  find  a  tomb 

Upon  a  stranger-shore  : 
On  one  thou  lovedst,  those  eyes  in  death, 

Like  setting  stars,  grew  dim  — 
And  gave,  in  placid  gentleness, 

Their  latest  tears  to  him. 

V. 

Undying  hope  !    long  will  thy  stole 

The  sunny  world  adorn  ; 
But  robes  of  righteousness  are  on 

The  aged  one  we  mourn. 

RICHMOND,  VIRGINIA,  1838. 


APPENDIX.  219 


THE  following  beautiful  and  touching  lines  are  from  the  pen  of  a  gifted 
young  lady  —  daughter  of  my  ancient  friend  the  Rev.  Mr.  CAPERS,  near 
Mobile  —  and  are  inserted  here  on  account  of  the  subject,  as  well  as  for  the 
interest  we  take  in  the  talented  authoress.  She  has  many  beautiful  produc 
tions,  we  are  informed,  of  superior  merit,  which  we  hope  in  due  course  of 
time  will  be  given  to  the  public  in  a  permanent  form. 

LINES 

ADDRESSED    TO   MES.   Jt'CEHEE,    ON    THE    DEATH   OF   HER   INFANT    SON. 

"Mother,  on  earth  it  must  be  so  — 
Thou  rear'st  the  lovely,  to  see  them  go  !" 

I. 

LADY,  thy  voice  fell  on  mine  ear, 

In  accents  soft  and  mild, 
And  told  that  from  thy  heart  was  torn 

A  dear  and  lovely  child ; 
Soft  sympathy's  pathetic  chords 

Did  my  soul  inspire, 
And  bade  me  wake  again  to  song 

My  rude  and  simple  lyre. 

II. 

Though  harsh  the  tones  that  from  its  strings 

Will  fall  upon  thine  ear, 
And  from  thy  mild  and  lovely  eye 

Call  forth  perhaps  a  tear  — 


220  APPENDIX. 


Forgive  the  stranger-hand  that  sweeps 
The  chords  once  turned  to  joy ; 

It  only  weaves  a  simple  song, 
In  memory  of  thy  boy. 

III. 

The  sweetest  flowers  that  bloom  in  spring, 

The  soonest  fade  and  die  — 
And  scattered  on  each  silent  bed 

Their  withered  leaflets  lie  ; 
And  every  leaf,  though  brown  and  sear, 

The  pleasing  thought  doth  bring, 
That  they  will  be  more  beautiful 

When  comes  another  spring. 

IV. 

Then  we,  who  only  watch  with  eyes 

That  often  wake  to  weep 
Over  some  friend  or  kindred  dear 

When  calm  they  fall  asleep, 
Should  think  that  death  is  but  the  gate 

That  leads  to  endless  joy, 
And  in  a  brighter,  fairer  clime, 

Now  lives  thine  angel-boy. 

V. 

Too  pure  to  dwell  in  this  cold  world, 
Where  grief  alone  hath  place, 

Some  smiling  seraph  fondly  gazed 
On  his  angelic  face  — 


APPENDIX.  221 


And  bearing  on  its  brilliant  wing 

Back  to  its  native  sky, 
Thy  cherub-babe  there  sweetly  lives, 

To  draw  thy  soul  on  high. 

VI. 

'T  is  sad  indeed  to  part  with  those 

We  dearly  love  on  earth  ; 
But  in  a  purer,  better  world, 

Their  souls  alone  have  birth. 
So  few  the  fleeting  joys  of  time, 

To  court  their  longer  stay, 
I  marvel  not  when  thus  the  young 

And  lovely  pass  away. 

VII. 

Mother !    let  Faith  direct  thine  eye 

To  blissful  worlds  above, 
Where  dwells  in  majesty  sublime 

The  holy  GOD  of  love  — 
And  know  that  he  will  healing  balm 

For  every  wound  impart, 
And  gently  with  his  tender  cords 

Bind  up  the  broken  heart. 

VIII. 

Soon  will  the  transient  scenes  of  time 

With  us  be  sweetly  o'er, 
And  we  shall  gaze  with  fond  delight 

On  Canaan's  peaceful  shore  ; 


222  APPENDIX. 


And  then,  arrayed  in  spotless  robes, 

Thy  lovely  boy  will  come, 
To  bear  his  mother's  blood-bought  soul 

Back  to  its  native  home. 

IX. 

Lady,  thy  GOD  has  often  been 

The  humble  stranger's  friend 
Who  dares  with  thy  heart-rending  grief 

Her  sympathies  to  blend ; 
And  she  will  fondly  hope  that  when 

Life's  toilsome  journey 's  o'er, 
To  dwell  with  thee,  thou  stricken  one, 

Where  sorrows  come  no  more. 

CAROLINA. 


NOTES. 


NOTE  1.  —  SALLY  RILEY. 

THE  lady  intended  originally  as  the  heroine  of  this  poem,  was  Miss  SARAH 
GORDON,  of  Eatonton,  Georgia.  The  first  canto,  however,  was  not  fin 
ished  until  the  author  removed  to  Milledgeville,  where  it  was  considerably 
extended  and  applied  to  Miss  SARAH  ROSSETTER —  well  worthy  of  all  that 
is  said  of  her,  and  whose  name  is  still  associated  in  the  author's  mind  with 
many  pleasant  recollections.  The  second  canto  was  written  many  years 
afterward,  and  published  in  Macon,  Georgia. 

The  twenty-fifth  stanza  in  the  first  canto,  beginning  thus  —  "  The  one  was 
of  a  tall,  attractive  shape"  —  applies  to  Miss  LAURA  DENT,  of  Eatonton, 
Georgia,  distinguished  in  that  day  for  her  beauty  and  majestic  grace.  The 
two  stanzas  that  follow  (xxvi.  and  xxvii.)  are  intended  for  Miss  XANCY 
MASON,  universally  esteemed,  not  only  for  the  qualities  ascribed  to  her,  but 
for  many  others,  which  have  secured  the  happiness  of  her  family  and  the  love 
of  all  who  know  her.  She  still  resides  in  Eatonton. 

The  person  alluded  to  as  "poor  HAL,"  in  the  stanzas  beginning  with  — 
"  I  had  a  friend  —  the  best  I  ever  had"  —  was  HENRY  DENISON,  a  young 
man  of  considerable  promise  and  of  the  loftiest  sentiments  of  honor,  who 
wrote  some  beautiful  things,  and  whose  poems,  after  his  death,  were  col 
lected  and  published  by  his  friend  TEFT,  of  Savannah,  Georgia. 

Dr.  PANGLOS,  in  stanza  xv.,  page  82,  alludes  to  one  of  the  most  pro 
found  scholars  and  extensively-read  men  in  Georgia.  His  name  is  not  given 
here,  from  an  unwillingness  to  wound  the  feelings  —  even  by  the  most  inno 
cent  satire  —  of  an  old  friend  for  whom  the  author  cherishes  sincere  re 
spect  and  the  kindliest  considerations.  Although  his  philosophical  treatise 
on  man  is  not  likely  to  secure  the  immortality  its  author  expected,  the 
doctor  is  nevertheless  a  man  of  genius  and  imagination,  and  has  written  some 
good  poetry. 


224  NOTES. 


NOTE  2. — Page  90. 
"  Some  worth  that  is  not  gold." 

THERE  is  a  similar  expression  somewhere  in  CHURCHILL,  but  I  am  not 
able  to  refer  to  it. 


NOTE  3.  —  Page  110. 

"  So  luminous  with  life  and  love, 

So  little  dimmed  by  shade, 
Her  beauty  threw  a  light  before 
Her  footsteps  as  she  strayed." 

THIS  stanza  is  founded  upon  some  such  line  as  this  in  MOORE 
"  She  moves  in  the  light  of  her  own  making." 


NOTE  4.  —  Page  195. — NOURMAHAL. 

"  Oh,  may  not  a  lover,  in  such  a  sweet  hour, 

The  charms  of  his  far -distant  lienuty  forget, 
And  whisper  of  love  to  the  belles  that  are  by?" 

THIS  idea  is  taken  from  some  well-known  lines  of  MOORE,  which  arc  not 
inserted  here,  because  I  can  not  quote  them  from  memory,  and  have  no  copy 
of  his  works  at  hand. 


THE     END. 


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